Harry Potter and the Emerald Trance
by DrizzleWizzle
Summary: (5/7) It is a dark time for Harry Potter. Voldemort is secretly amassing power, and only Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix opposes him. Abandoned, libeled, loathed and reviled, Harry has few allies and fewer options. Harry must learn to control his powerful and mysterious emerald trance; if he cannot, Harry will be consumed by darkness. (AU Slytherin!Harry)
1. Chapter 1

Harry Potter was sitting on a swing in a play park not far from Number Four, Privet Drive, where Harry had stayed with his aunt and uncle for the past two months. Ever since the previous school year had ended at Hogwarts. Ever since…

…but Harry did not want to think about that.

Harry idly pushed himself back and forth on the swing, using the tip of one foot. The rusty chains squeaked as the links rubbed together. The playground was one of the few things in Little Whinging that was allowed to fall into any state of disrepair. Little Whinging was a land of perfectly trimmed lawns and meticulously weeded gardens. There was not a single lawn ornament to be seen, and every home was painted in tasteful shades of beige and gray.

The tidy and well-ordered appearance of Little Whinging was not enforced by any ordinance of local government, or the rule of any neighborhood association. The uniformly immaculate houses were the result of a long-standing but unspoken agreement among the denizens of Little Winging. Although keeping your home and grounds tidy was not a mandatory requirement of residency in Little Whinging, it was the sort of thing that one did, if one had a desire to be on speaking terms with one's neighbors.

The playground, however, was different. Despite paying for the construction of the playground from their own taxes, the residents of Little Whinging looked upon the playground with disdain. This was largely the doing of Harry's Uncle Vernon. Vernon was willing to tell anybody with ears that playgrounds promoted laziness in the young, and undermined a parent's proper attempts to instill work ethic in a child. (This conversation always made Harry wonder if Uncle Vernon had ever actually looked at, spoken with, or thought about his son, Dudley. Evidence suggested that Vernon had not.) Vernon's outspoken opposition to the playground had led the local primary school to cancel recesses. During the summer, any parent who allowed a child to play upon the playground was promptly chastised. If the behavior did not change, the parent and child were shunned.

This knowledge played a great part in Harry's decision to hang about the playground.

The chains on the swingset squeaked, as Harry moved back and forth. It was, in fact, the only swing which had not been broken—the other four hung pathetically from one chain. The metal of the slide was warped and dented, and the paint upon the steps had begun to chip and flake.

Across the play park, the wooden supports of the jungle gym bore the scars of teenagers with knives. A few carvings attempted to make some form of political statement—from where he was sitting, Harry could see the clearly written words, "I wanna be anarchy," and "No Future! No Future!" (Harry could also see that even the most imaginative of Little Whinging's burgeoning rebels could do little more than quote twenty year old songs by The Sex Pistols.) The less creative hooligans had carved standard declarations of everlasting teenage love, sometimes surrounded by a crude and angular heart. At the bottom of the barrel were the vandals who carved only a single word, usually a name ("DUDLEY") or a curse ("FUCK"). The most daring vandals would combine a name with a curse ("FUCK VERNON"). Those who thought themselves amusing would add a curse above or below a previously-carved name. ("PEIRS is an ASS").

Harry sighed. Reading the graffiti was depressing. The play park equipment had become nothing more than a canvas the small-minded stupidity of Dudley and his gang of friends. They had taken something delightful, and had corrupted it. It reminded Harry of…

…things he didn't want to think about.

Harry planted both his feet upon the ground and pushed back firmly. The rusty chains of the swing howled in protest as they began to move. Harry moved his feet back and forth under his body, propelling the swing higher and higher. Harry knew that he was too old to be playing in a play park, but the wind blowing through his hair reminded him of time spent on a broom playing quidditch. It brought pleasant memories to mind—flying through the crisp, fall air at Hogwarts; catching his first snitch and winning a quidditch match for his house; casually throwing a quaffle with Draco.

Harry winced and closed his eyes. Draco. He hadn't received a letter from him all summer.

But Harry wasn't thinking about bad things. He wasn't thinking about the way that everything in his life had been ruined. Harry was riding a swing, and he was having fun, Dark Lords be damned.

Harry kicked his legs back and forth with greater force. The motion had loosened the swing's rusty chains, and Harry was able to propel himself to greater and greater heights. The top of Harry's swinging arc was slightly above the crossbar of the swing set, and as Harry looked up at the sky he felt the chain go slack. For a moment, just before he began his descent, it really did feel as if he were flying.

Then gravity asserted its hold, and Harry felt himself being pulled back toward the ground. Harry tucked his legs, preparing for the backward sweep of his swing. The chains jerked tight as they caught Harry's weight and there was a horrible shriek of metal as one of the rusted chain links popped open. Suddenly untethered, Harry's body began to twist in the air as he hurtled toward the ground. Harry landed roughly on his left side; he felt his arm go numb, and then a burning sensation from his fingertips to his shoulder.

Harry groaned and rolled onto his back. He knew what it felt like to break his arm—he had done it before, during second year, when the Malfoy's house elf had sent a rogue bludger after Harry during a quidditch match—and this feeling was different. It reminded Harry of the cruciatus curse that Voldemort had used upon him. It was as if every nerve in his arm was on fire. Harry rubbed his left arm with his right hand, and the pain began to slowly fade.

"Didja see that? Potty just fell off the swing!"

Harry grimaced. That was the voice of Piers Polkiss, one of Dudley's friends. Of course, they just had to be walking past theplay park when Harry did something stupid. Because good things didn't happen to Harry any more.

Harry used his good arm to push himself to his feet, wincing with pain as he did so. As Harry slowly stood, Dudley and his friends moved closer, laughing and taunting Harry all the way. Their taunts were as inane as their graffiti—Draco could teach this lot a lesson or two about the true nature of cutting remarks.

Dudley laughed with his friends, but did not offer any barbs of his own. Dudley was afraid of Harry, because Dudley knew that Harry was a wizard. Dudley also had some conception that Harry's godfather was a mass-murderer, but clearly Dudley hadn't worked through all the implications. Dudley had gotten far enough along, however, to realize that Harry was no longer a prime target for bullying. Dudley had shifted his attentions to the younger neighborhood children, who were easier targets and who did not have psychotic godfathers running loose.

Peirs had not been notified of Dudley's change of heart, however.

"Did you hurt your ickle arm?" Piers asked, baby-talking to Harry. "Are you going to run to your Auntie and cry about your boo-boo?"

Harry dusted his hands off on his pants, using the motion to surreptitiously check that his wand had not fallen out of his pocket. "What's that, Piers? I couldn't understand you. You sound like an idiot child."

Piers frowned, and another one of Dudley's friends, Malcolm, stepped forward. "Haven't seen you 'round this summer, Potty. Finally discovered tossin' off, yeah?"

Harry rolled his eyes. He couldn't believe that he was going to say this. "I discovered your mum, Malcolm, so I don't need to toss off. Why don't you ask her where I've been?"

Malcolm clenched his fists. "Don't you talk about my mum."

"Why not? She's a wonderful lady."

Malcolm stepped forward, threateningly. Piers moved out to Harry's left, and Gordon to Harry's right. Dudley's gang was familiar with the beginnings of a fight. First, you taunted the target. Next, if the target didn't submit, you threatened. Finally, if the target continued to resist, you attacked from all sides. Harry had quickly managed to escalate from Stage One to Stage Three.

Dudley still had not moved.

"You think you're clever, don't you, Potty?" asked Gordon.

"Rather clever, yes," Harry said. His wand was close at hand, and Harry knew that he had nothing to fear. In fact, he welcomed this fight. It would give him something to do. Something to distract himself. Harry even suspected that the physical pain of the fight would be a blessing, an anchor to this world, and welcome distraction from the hurt in his heart.

"Why don't we show him what we think of clever tossers, right Big D?" Gordon asked.

Dudley said nothing.

"Big D?" Gordon's voice was now uncertain. Dudley was the reigning Junior Heavyweight Inter-School Boxing Champion of the Southeast—over the past year, the softness had disappeared from Dudley's physique. He was as vast as ever, but he had managed to replace most of his paunch with muscle. Without Dudley to back him up, Gordon was suddenly uncomfortable, even though the odds were still three against one.

"He's not worth it," Dudley said simply.

"Didn't you hear what he said about my mum?" Malcolm cried.

"Yeah," said Dudley.

Malcolm turned back to Dudley, incredulous. "Are we going to let him get away with it?"

Dudley shrugged. "I dunno. Are you?"

Harry grinned a little. Dudley had managed that well. The Dursleys knew that Harry could only cast spells in emergencies, and for self-defense. If Dudley didn't attack Harry, then he was safe from Harry's magic.

Malcolm turned back to Harry. "No, I'm not. So take it back, Potty. Say you're sorry."

"I'm sorry your mum is so good in the bedroom," Harry said.

Malcolm snarled and raised his fists. Harry saw Piers and Gordon begin to ready themselves, as well. The fight was on.

As Harry reached toward his pocket, he felt a surge of guilt. Before Harry and Sirius had parted at Hogwarts, his godfather's last request had been for Harry to stay out of trouble. _Lay low. Don't call attention to yourself. Stay out of trouble._ And this… was not accomplishing that goal. And Harry already had been warned for underage magic use. Another incident could

result in his suspension from Hogwarts.

Harry reluctantly moved his hand away from his wand. He was going to have to get himself out of this situation without magic.

"Come on, Potty," Malcolm said. "Are you s-"

Harry darted forward and smashed his fist into Malcolm's throat. The taller boy was unprepared for Harry's attack, and he fell backwards, making gagging noises.

There was motion in the corner of Harry's eye. Gordon. Harry lashed out with his foot, catching Gordon in the side of the knee. Harry heard a popping noise, and Gordon dropped to the ground, howling and grabbing at his leg.

"Maybe I should help, after all," Dudley said, cracking his knuckles. Harry realized that the only thing that had kept Dudley from joining the fight was Harry's willingness to use magic. If Harry wasn't going to use magic, Dudley wasn't afraid. Why stay out of a good fight? Harry knew that he would never win a standing fight against Piers _and_ Dudley.

So Harry ran.

"Get him!" Dudley yelled to Piers. Harry could barely hear his cousin's voice over the sound of his own heavy breathing and the slap of his shoes on the pavement. Harry was almost certain that he could outdistance Dudley and his friends; Harry's quidditch conditioning hadn't totally left him in the last year, and nothing about Dudley could be called quick.

Harry glanced over his shoulder as he neared the edge of the play park. Dudley was lumbering after him, and Malcolm had gotten to his feet. Gordon was still on the ground, holding his knee. Piers, though, was surprisingly close, only twenty or so yards behind Harry. Harry looked forward and lowered his head, forcing his legs to move even faster than before.

Harry left the play park and ran onto the sidewalk, turning toward the local shopping district. Residents of Little Whinging tended to ignore problems and let people go about their business, even if their business was several large boys pounding one smaller boy into oblivion. Homeowners "didn't want to get involved." If Piers managed to catch Harry on a residential street, Harry was in for a beating. But if Harry could make it to the shopping district, he might be safe. Even Piers wouldn't be so brazen as to attack Harry in front of dozens of witnesses

Harry skidded around a corner and turned onto Main Street. On a Saturday afternoon, the shops would be open and people would be bustling about, window shopping and eating at sidewalk cafés. Unfortunately for Harry, it was Sunday evening, and nearly all the shops were closed. Only the ice cream parlor was open, and that was several blocks away.

Harry glanced behind him again. Piers rounded the corner at a sprint, closing the gap between himself and Harry. Harry would be caught long before he could reach any sort of safety.

Harry made another turn, cutting around a building at the next street corner. As soon as he was around the building and out of Piers's sight, Harry slammed to a halt. He crept back to the corner and struggled to calm his breathing, so that he could listen for the sound of Piers's footsteps pounding on the pavement…

Now.

Harry stepped out from around the corner and raised his elbow. Just as he had previously, Piers was cutting the corner close, chasing after Harry at full sprint. Piers's face crashed into Harry's elbow at top speed, and Harry could hear the snap of cartilage breaking in Piers's nose. Piers's feet went out from under him, and he fell to the ground with a shout. The impact knocked Harry off balance, and set Harry's elbow throbbing once again.

Harry looked up. Dudley and Malcolm were a block behind, rounding the corner. Malcolm pointed and yelled, and they began to run toward Harry. Harry took flight once again, running down the side street.

With only Malcolm and Dudley behind him, Harry was certain that his escape was imminent. He could turn down the next alley, cutting across to Crouchway Drive and then to Privet Drive two blocks down. If Dudley and Malcolm hadn't given up by then, Harry could lock himself safely in his room. And although Vernon and Petunia disliked Harry with every fiber of their being, they would allow no physical violence in the house, lest Sirius be forced to visit.

As Harry plunged into the alley, he once again glanced behind him. Dudley and Malcolm were just passing Piers. They saw where Harry had gone, but not for long. Just one more turn, and Harry would be out of their sight and home free.

Harry smashed into a fence. His vision blurred and white spots flashed before his eyes. Fire-like pain ignited in Harry's arm, which was throbbing from its third violent impact in less than ten minutes. Harry fell backward and landed hard on the alley floor.

Harry put a hand to his head and looked up. That fence shouldn't be there. That enormous, solid, wooden, unclimbable fence SHOULD NOT BE THERE. It hadn't been there last month, when Harry had cut through the alley. It hadn't been there last week, when Harry cut through the alley. It had no right to be exactly where it was, blocking Harry's escape!

Harry's eyes were drawn down. There was a sign hanging from the fence. "Due to recent vandalism and thefts, the rear of Tidkey's Clothiers has been fenced. Deliveries, see manager for key. Sincerely, Tidkey's." Fenced because of vandalism? It seemed that Dudley and his hoodlums had managed to catch Harry, after all.

Harry clambered to his feet. He had to get out of the alley before…

"There you are."

…Dudley arrived.

Harry turned slowly. Dudley and Malcolm were standing at the front of the alley, blocking Harry's escape. In the darkness of the alley, Dudley's shadow was enormous—far larger than it should have been. A chill ran down Harry's spine as he drew his wand out of his pocket.

"What are you doing?" asked Dudley.

"Nobody's around to watch, now," Harry said. "Did you really think I wasn't going to fight back?" Harry tried to force confidence into his voice, despite his deepening feeling of dread.

Malcolm had begun moving his head back and forth, frantically looking around the alley and surrounding street. "I don't like this, Big D," Malcolm said.

"Stop it," Dudley said to Harry. There was a quaver in his voice. "You're not allowed."

Harry drew his eyebrows together in confusion. What was Dudley talking about? Harry wasn't doing anything—not yet, anyway. So why were Dudley and Malcolm acting afraid? It was two against one, and Dudley was the only one who knew what Harry could do with his wand. To Malcolm, Harry's wand would just look like a stick. It should be funny, not frightening.

"Stop it!" Dudley shouted. Malcolm, startled by Dudley's loud voice, turned and ran. Harry and Dudley were alone in the alley.

"I'm not doing anything!" Harry shouted back. Harry's breath turned into a light mist and rose in the air in front of his eyes. And suddenly, Harry knew.

"Dudley, get over here," Harry said. He raised his wand and started glancing around. Where was it?

"No! You stop what you're doing or I'll tell mum and dad!"

Harry sighed. Dudley would never listen to him.

There was a flicker of motion behind Dudley. A ripple across the street, like fabric in the wind. But there was no wind, today. The motion was a dementor, slowly emerging from the alley across the street.

Harry beckoned at his cousin. "Dudley, I promise, I'm not doing anything. This is something else, and it's very dangerous. Get over here so I can protect you!"

"This is all a trick!" Dudley shouted. He was beginning to panic, and the dementor was getting closer. Harry saw the creature raise its hand and grasp the sides of its hood. Was the dementor preparing to give Dudley the dementor's kiss? What in Merlin's name was going on?

Harry had to do something, so he pointed behind Dudley and screamed. "Dudley, behind you!"

Dudley shrieked in fear and spun on his heel. He began backing down the alley toward Harry. "What? What is it?"

Couldn't Dudley see the dementor? It was less than a dozen feet away, and closing the distance fast. Maybe muggles couldn't see them.

Harry walked forward, placing himself between his cousin and the dark creature. He called to mind the image of Pettigrew, lying on the floor of Harry's childhood nursery, bleeding from the neck, growing paler and paler by the second. Harry felt a cool satisfaction seep through his heart. He raised his wand and confidently incanted, "_Expecto patronum!_"

A wisp of white came out of Harry's wand and dissipated immediately in the air.

"_Expecto patronum! Expecto patronum!_" Harry repeated the incantation, and each time the results were the same. Harry could not produce a patronus.

"What are you doing?" Dudley asked. "What is it?"

"Shut up," Harry growled. There was something wrong. What was it? Why wasn't his patronus working? Pettigrew was his patronus thought. It should make him happy.

Except that killing Pettigrew hadn't made Harry happy. It had made him _satisfied_. Harry had his revenge, but there was no happiness in that moment. Harry had already resigned himself to death when he killed Pettigrew; his revenge had given him only grim satisfaction.

Harry needed to be happy.

Behind Harry, Dudley gave a shout, and there was a crash and rumble of garbage cans. Harry turned and saw that a second dementor had appeared behind them. The second dementor had pushed Dudley into a pile of trash, and was now looming over the large boy, drawing back its hood.

Harry thought furiously. Happy. Happy. What had he learned with Lupin that made him happy?

Right. Happy meant Ginny. Hugging Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets. Dancing with Ginny at the Yule Ball. Watching her smile as The Weird Sisters played songs by The Beatles. Watching her smile at him. Kissing Ginny in the gardens. That was what it meant to be happy. Ginny was happy.

Harry fixed an image of Ginny in his mind, the feeling of Ginny's lips against his, and raised his arm. He pointed his wand at the second dementor. "_Expecto patronum!_"

A blue-white light burst from the wand and formed a solid shield between Dudley and the dementor. The dark creature hissed and drew back from Dudley. Harry stepped forward, driving the creature away with his patronus shield. Harry advanced until he was next to Dudley, then turned around quickly. The first dementor was almost upon them; Harry swung his shield toward the entrance of the alley and pushed it away.

"Get up," Harry commanded Dudley.

"What was that?" Dudley asked. "What pushed me?"

"Get up, _now_," Harry said. The two dementors were trying to attack Harry from both sides. It was all he could do to swing the shield back and forth, keeping them at bay. Dudley stood, hauling his bulk off the ground.

"Follow me," Harry said. Harry began to walk deeper into the alley.

"Why are we going that way?" Dudley asked.

"Don't ask questions," Harry said curtly. The dementors were still on either side of them, but Harry was getting closer and closer to the fence. Just one or two more steps, and then…

Harry brought his shield to bear on the second dementor and lunged toward the back of the alley, trapping the dementor between his patronus shield and the wooden fence. As the shield touched the dementor, it emitted an ear-piercing shriek. The rags began to churn and roil, attempting to escape, but Harry pushed forward determinately. After a moment more there was a whooshing noise, and the dementor dissolved into the air, completely annihilated by contact with Harry's patronus shield.

Harry spun immediately. There was no time to enjoy his victory—he had to focus on the other dementor. The dark creature was close, only a foot or two away, and Harry used his shield to push it back. The dementor rose up and away, hissing at Harry.

"Are you ready?" Harry asked Dudley.

"Ready to what?"

"RUN!"

As Harry began to jog out of the alley, the dementor rose upward, shying away from Harry's shield. Dudley followed at a lumbering run.

"Where are we going?" Dudley asked.

"Home," Harry said. Number Four, Privet Drive would be protected against dark creatures… probably.

As Harry ran out of the alley, he plowed into a pedestrian—a woman who smelled of cats. Both Harry and the woman fell to the ground. Harry's patronus shield dissipated as he lost track of his happy thought. He looked upward, but the dementor was nowhere to be seen.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, as he stood. He glanced around, but could not locate the dementor. The darkness of the alley seemed to be receding, and Harry wasn't feeling quite as cold. It seemed that the creature was leaving, rather than pursuing Harry and Dudley. Mindful of the statute of secrecy, Harry began to tuck his wand into his pocket.

"Don't put it away, you fool!" the woman shouted from the ground. "It might come back!"

Harry looked down, and discovered that he had collided with Mrs. Figg, his neighbor from down the street. "You can see them?" Harry asked.

"Of course I can," Mrs. Figg snapped. "Now, wand out, until you're safe at home."

*!*!*!*

**A/N: **_Book Five has begun! Thanks to all my readers for sticking with me while I adjusted my update schedule. Be sure to check out Harry Potter and the Tri-Wizard Tournament for a secret bonus preview chapter!_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** _After last week's chapter, at least 25% of my reviews were simply expressing the hope that this wouldn't become a Harry/Ginny story. Last time I checked, though, Ginny hates Harry's guts. I'll check again to confirm it—Ginny does, in fact, hate Harry's guts. She hates all the rest of him, as well. _

_In Chapter 1, Harry needed to summon a memory that would power a patrons charm, and Ginny was Harry's original patronus memory. It makes perfect sense that he'd revert to that. But a nice memory is a far cry from making Ginny speak to him again, or the two of them becoming friends. And both of those things would have to happen before the two of them would start dating._

_Since I'm mentioning reviews in this week's Author's Note, I thought I'd draw attention to a pair of reviews that I received near the conclusion of Book 4. They've really stuck with me. The first reviewer complained that Harry was totally out of character, and that I had practically turned him into a Death Eater. The second reviewer wondered why "people like me" even bother to write Slytherin Harry stories at all, because Harry was practically identical to canon, with the exception of being slightly more cynical._

_Your mileage may vary?_

* * *

Harry followed Mrs. Figg through the streets of Little Whinging, wand drawn. Dudley was a couple of steps back, lumbering along, but Dudley wasn't allowing himself to be left behind. Not after what had happened in the alley.

Harry could hear Mrs. Figg mumbling under her breath, cursing some person named Mundungus. With a name like Mundungus, it had to be a wizard.

"Who's that?" Harry asked.

"Mundungus Fletcher is supposed to be guarding you. That fool and his sticky fingers are up to no good, I'm sure of it…"

"Guarding me?"

"Of course," Mrs. Figg said. "You've had someone guarding you all summer. Not always the same person, naturally, but there should always be somebody here."

"_Should_ be," Harry repeated.

"When I get my hands on Mundungus, I swear to Merlin, he'll wish that he was never born. Just wait until I tell Dumbledore, just wait…"

Mrs. Figg continued on in this manner for quite a while, and Harry was content to let her talk. She kept slipping valuable pieces of information into her mutterings. Harry was being guarded this summer, Dumbledore had organized the guard, Mundungus Fletcher was one of the guards, Mundungus Fletcher was a thief of some sort, the guards were members of some sort of Order… it was a treasure trove of information. Just the sort of things that Harry had been craving to know all summer.

Harry was sad when they arrived at Number Four, Privet Drive, because it brought an end to Mrs. Figg's mutterings. Then again, Harry's arrival meant that his soul had not been sucked out by a dementor, so there was a silver lining to that particular cloud.

"Get inside," Mrs. Figg said. "I'm going to contact Dumbledore, straight away."

Harry marched up the front steps and opened the door. He waited for Dudley to haul his bulk inside, then followed. Before Harry closed the door, he glanced back outside. There was a *pop* and a small, poorly dressed wizard appeared next to Mrs. Figg.

"Why, hello Arabella," the wizard began. Before he could complete his greeting, Mrs. Figg began swinging her purse at him, striking him around the shoulders and head.

"YOU FILTHY LAYABOUT! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?"

Mundungus raised his arms and covered his head. "Oi! What's this all about!"

Harry considered standing in the doorway to watch the show, but a cry of alarm drew his attention. Petunia had discovered Dudley, and was calling for Vernon.

Harry winced and closed the front door. This was going to be bad.

The shouting began almost immediately. Vernon demanding to know what Harry had done, Dudley making thick-headed and vague statements about Harry's actions, and Petunia jumping immediately to the worst of all possible conclusions. Harry defended himself as best he could, insisting that he was protecting both himself and Dudley from a dementor.

"What's a dementor supposed to be?" Vernon demanded, arms folded over his chest.

Before Harry could answer, his aunt spoke. "One of the guards of the wizard prison," she said. Then, suddenly realizing what she had done, Petunia clamped her hands across her mouth.

"How do you know that?" Harry asked, equal parts amazed and curious.

Petunia shook her head. "That awful boy used to talk about them…"

"So you know I'm not lying," Harry said. He had a distinct idea about who 'that awful boy' was: his father.

"I know no such thing," Petunia said. "What I do know is that you are putting my family in danger."

"_I'm_ your family!" Harry shouted. "Not that you've ever acted like it."

There was a rustling noise in the kitchen. Harry snatched his wand out of his pocket and pointed it at the kitchen, where the door was standing open. Had the dementors returned? Were they forcing their way into the house?

With an enormous screech, a brown owl flapped and fluttered its way into the foyer. It dropped a letter into Harry's hand, then beat a hasty retreat as Vernon hollered at its tailfeathers.

Harry tore open the letter immediately. It was from a notice from ministry employee named Mafalda Hopkirk, informing Harry that he was being summoned to a disciplinary hearing for violating the Statute of Secrecy. Further, he had been summarily expelled from Hogwarts for his second violation of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, and a ministry representative would arrive shortly to destroy Harry's wand.

Harry crumpled the letter in his left hand, and seized his wand more tightly with his right. Destroy his wand? With Voldemort having returned? Over Harry's dead body, they would. Harry thought back to his escape from the Dursley's home two years ago. His main problem had been leaving at night—Harry would have to gather his things immediately, and abscond while there was still daylight. He needed to travel light, as he would be using his Firebolt for transportation. First stop would be Gringotts, to make a large withdrawal. Then, he would head south. He should be able to make it France before dawn the next day, and he would seek out Beauxbatons Academy and ask for sanctuary with Madame Maxime.

Harry snapped out of his reverie to discover Vernon shouting in his face.

"There will be NO MORE OWLS in my HOUSE!" Vernon bellowed.

Harry calmly raised his wand. "Get out of my way. I'm leaving."

"You aren't allowed to use that on me," Vernon said. "You'll be expelled from that madhouse you call a school!"

"I've already been expelled," Harry said. He shoved the crumpled letter at Vernon's face. "Get out of my way, or you'll find out what I'm really capable of."

Harry and Vernon stared at each other for several seconds, tension building. Harry began to count backward from five in his head. If Vernon hadn't moved himself by the time the countdown was finished, then Harry would move Vernon anyway. Three. Two.

There was an enormous crash from the kitchen, and both Harry and Vernon jumped with surprise. Petunia let out a small yelp. Harry pushed past Vernon and walked to the kitchen, wand still raised. On the outside of the now-closed kitchen window sat a second owl, shaking its head from the impact with the crystal-clear kitchen window.

Harry opened the window, and the owl hopped through with a letter. As Harry removed the envelope, Vernon entered the kitchen and yelled once again, "NO MORE OWLS!"

Harry ignored his uncle and began to read. The handwriting was familiar, as Harry had seen it before on dozens of his Potions examinations.

_Potter,_

_ Dumbledore has gone to the Ministry to resolve the issue of your expulsion. Perform no further magic. Stay inside the house. Surrender your wand to no one._

_ Prof. Snape_

Harry was astonished. He had never received personal correspondence from Professor Snape before. Based on Snape's letter, there was a chance that Harry wouldn't be expelled, and that Harry could keep his wand. But if Harry performed more magic—for example, hexing his Uncle Vernon—then there would be little protection that Dumbledore could offer.

Harry sighed. It would have felt so good.

Harry turned to his purple-faced uncle. "I've decided to stay."

Vernon frowned and shook the crumpled ministry letter at Harry. "They're coming for your silly little stick," Vernon said. "Maybe you should do us all a favor and get out."

Harry shook his head, and dropped into a chair at the kitchen table. "Dumbledore's gone to the Ministry of Magic to sort everything out."

"People like you have a Ministry?" Vernon said. "No wonder the country's going to pot…"

Harry glared at Vernon, but said nothing. Some statements were so stupid that no response was necessary.

A third owl swooped into the kitchen, through the window that Harry had never bothered to close. It bore an official-looking envelope of the same type as the first owl. Harry removed the envelope and tore it open. After the owl was gone, Vernon once again slammed the kitchen window shut.

Harry read through the second letter from the Ministry as fast as he could. Once again, it was from Mafalda Hopkirk, whoever that was. The Ministry had reconsidered its decision to summarily destroy Harry's wand and expel Harry from Hogwarts. Instead, both issues would be considered at Harry's disciplinary hearing on August 12th, along with the issue of Harry's (alleged) violation of the Statute of Secrecy.

Disciplinary hearing, eh? Once again, Harry seemed to be in need of a solicitor. Perhaps he should simply keep one on retainer. Harry had come to realize that simply being The Boy Who Lived presented too many opportunities for legal complications.

"Well?" Vernon said. "What now?"

"I have a hearing," Harry said. "They'll decide everything there."

"So there's still hope that you'll be expelled and that twig of yours will be snapped," Vernon said.

"Apparently," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "If that's all, I'm going up to my room."

"Your room? What makes you think that I'm going to allow you to remain in my house? You brought these dementy-thingies-"

"Dementors," Harry corrected.

"-upon my family. You're a danger to all of us. I want you out."

Before Harry could respond, a fourth, very dirty owl came barreling out of the kitchen fireplace. With every flap of its wings, it scattered soot across the kitchen.

"BLOODY OWLS!" Vernon shouted. He began to wave his arms in the air, which only caused the soot to blow about the kitchen more thoroughly.

The fourth letter was from Sirius, and the instructions were simple: Don't leave the house again, whatever you do.

Well. That was straightforward. If Sirius and Snape were in agreement on something, then it had to be important.

Harry politely opened the kitchen window, and the owl flew away. Behind Harry, Vernon was shouting once again.

"I won't have a peck of owls- I mean, a pack of owls- er, a flock of owls-"

"Parliament," Harry corrected. "A parliament of owls. Like a pride of lions, or school of fish."

"Thank you," Vernon said automatically. When he realized what he had done, he scowled at Harry. "I won't have a bunch of owls flying in and out of my house at all hours of the day and night!"

"I didn't send them," Harry said.

"What I want to know," Petunia said, "is why there was a dementor in Little Whinging."

Harry glanced at the kitchen table, where his aunt was now sitting. In the midst of his row with Uncle Vernon, Harry hadn't noticed her come in to the kitchen. She was sitting demurely, with her legs crossed and a calm, blank expression on her face. Her hands were clasped in front of her and rested on the table. Harry would have thought her the picture of composure, except he could see her foot under the table, shaking in the air.

"That's a good question!" Vernon said loudly. "There isn't another one of _your kind_ around for _miles_."

Harry shrugged. "I can't explain it."

Petunia spoke again. "They guard the prison for w… you freaks. Why would they be here?"

"I don't know," Harry said. He had to admit that his uncle was right: Petunia presented a good question. The only time Harry had heard of dementors leaving Azkaban was when Sirius had escaped. Harry had been reading _The Daily Prophet_ all summer, and there had been no mention of any escape by any inmate.

"They must have been coming to arrest you!" Vernon declared, triumphantly thrusting a finger into the air. "You're a fugitive!"

"Are you daft?" Harry said. "The Ministry has known where to find me all summer. They just sent me two letters!"

Vernon frowned. Vernon had an intense love of logic, as it seemed to leave no room for magic or wizards. But when logic seemed to support Harry, Vernon was always suspicious.

"So why were they here?" Petunia asked. Harry was beginning to grow fearful of the cold tone in his aunt's voice. Vernon was a man who got his way with thunder and bluster, but Harry had never been afraid of Vernon's implicit threat of force. A fistfight was honest and direct. If Vernon ever struck Harry, or attempted to strike Harry, then Harry's ability to defend himself was clear and unambiguous. If Vernon had been a wizard (a thought which made Harry shudder) then Vernon would have been in Gryffindor.

Petunia, however… Petunia was a schemer. If she had ever made it to Hogwarts, she would have been sorted into Slytherin in a heartbeat. Harry knew that there was something behind Petunia's questions… some subtle motive, some conclusion that she had already reached, some trap that she was leading Harry into…

Refusing to accept Harry's silence as an answer, Petunia spoke again. "Who sent the dementors?"

A chill ran down the base of Harry's spine; there was only one possibility. "It must have been him. Voldemort."

Petunia's eyes widened. Whatever she had been expecting, she had not been expecting that. Harry realized that Petunia had probably settled on Sirius Black, or some other still-free Death Eater, as the source of the rogue dementor.

"What do you mean, Voldemort?" Petunia asked. "He's dead."

Harry turned and looked directly at Petunia. Something in her expression told him that his Aunt Petunia was the only other person in the house who would appreciate the full import of Voldemort's return. However little Petunia had liked her sister and her sister's husband, Petunia knew that they had been murdered by Voldemort. The idea that the murderer had returned and was attempting to kill Harry… it was enough to break through the cloak of denial in which she so frequently wrapped herself.

"Voldemort is back," Harry said. "I saw him return, about a month ago. I escaped, but he's still out there. He must have sent the dementor."

Petunia's lips pressed together in a thin line. "Get out," she said calmly.

"What?" Now it was Harry's turn to be surprised.

"You heard me. Get out of my house. Every second you are here, you are a danger to my family."

"No," Harry said. "I'm protecting you. As long as I'm here, this house and everybody in it is protected." He knew this was true—Dumbledore had told him that. "You're safer with me."

"You brought those things to Little Whinging," Petunia said. "You know that Voldemort isn't going to stop. And when he finally gets you, it won't be in my house. I want you out."

Harry clenched his eyes shut and shook his head. "I can't believe you," he said. "I'm trying to protect us all."

"We wouldn't be in danger if it weren't for you," Petunia said calmly. "Start packing. Now. I want you out of here in an hour."

When the second owl zoomed through the chimney, it was moving so fast that it was unable to pull out of its dive before striking the floor. The owl rolled across the ground in a cyclone of feathers and talons, squawking loudly as it came to rest at Petunia's feet. Harry stepped forward to remove the letter, but the owl hopped up and took flight, zooming in a circle around Petunia's head. Clutched in its talons was a bright red envelope.

"You'd better open that," Harry said, recognizing the familiar envelope of a Howler. "Because you're going to hear it, whether you want to or not."

Petunia glared at Harry, and held out an open hand at her side. The owl dropped the envelope into her hand, then zoomed back up the chimney. Vernon followed it and snapped the flue shut.

In Petunia's hand, the red envelope had begun to smoke.

"Better open it quick," Harry said.

Petunia slowly reached toward the envelope, but she took too long. The envelope burst into familiar blue flames—foxfire, a spell that Hermione had known since her first year—and a booming voice filled the kitchen.

"_REMEMBER MY LAST, PETUNIA!_"

Harry recognized the voice as Dumbledore's. But what did the message mean?

Vernon was wondering the same thing. "What was that? What did that mean?"

Petunia was looking down at her hands, which she had once again clasped on the dinner table. She took a deep, shuddering breath.

"The boy will have to stay, Vernon," she said meekly.

"WHAT?"

Petunia's head snapped up with the speed of a striking viper. "THE BOY STAYS, VERNON!"

Vernon drew back and his jaw dropped open. Harry got the impression that Petunia did not frequently raise her voice to her husband.

Petunia's head snapped around, and she fixed her eyes on Harry. "Go to your room. Stay there. You are not to leave the house, or your room. I will bring your meals."

"Wait a second," Harry said. "Why did you get a Howler from D-"

"GO TO YOUR ROOM, NOW!" Petunia shrieked.

Before Harry had realized what he had done, he was out of the kitchen and halfway up the stairs. Come to think of it, Petunia did not frequently raise her voice to Harry, either. The effect was surprising. Harry almost turned around and marched back into the kitchen to show that he couldn't be bullied or ordered around.

Harry shook his head and smiled a little. That's something he'd do if he were a Gryffindor. But Harry was a Slytherin, and he knew that discretion was the better part of valor. Harry had won the battle—he would stay at Number 4, Privet Drive, and he would remain protected from whatever dark magic that Voldemort might marshal against him. There was no reason to make Petunia second-guess her decision.

Harry continued up the stairs and into his bedroom. He flopped down atop his bed and closed his eyes, seeking the blissful oblivion of sleep.

*!*!*!*

When Harry awoke from his nap, it was already nighttime, and the Dursleys had gone to be. Trying to ignore the rumbling in his stomach—he had missed dinner—Harry packed his trunk. Regardless of what Sirius and Snape said, and regardless of Dumbledore's Howler, Harry did not trust his aunt and uncle. Harry wanted to be ready to leave at a moment's notice, whether he was forced to leave because of eviction or attack. But packing his trunk took only a few hours, and as the late night turned into early morning, Harry realized that further attacks might not be forthcoming. Instead, the true challenge might lie in passing the time, as he was essentially imprisoned inside the house and his bedroom.

He tried to pass the time with numerous activities. Turning his thoughts toward the upcoming quidditch season, Harry did some pushups and jogged in place for a while, until Vernon stormed upstairs and began pounding on Harry's door, demanding that he "stop with all the racket!" For once in his life, Harry acknowledged that his uncle had a valid point—it was almost four o'clock in the morning, and Harry's running footsteps were rather thunderous in the house.

Harry turned toward a quieter pursuit, and wrote a few letters—to Hermione, Tracey, and Pansy. Hedwig returned with Tracey's and Pansy's letters still attached to her leg, undelivered and unopened. The lack of a reply from Pansy and Tracey was somewhat worrisome, but it was no different from every other letter that he had written them this summer. Harry didn't want to think about the implications of his friends' refusal to correspond with him. He told himself, as he had all summer, that it was Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson that were turning away the letters, or Mrs. Davis. He told himself that there was still a chance that Tracey was truly his friend. There was still a chance that Pansy really loved him.

That story was easier to believe at three in the afternoon, when the sun was shining and the birds were singing. But at four in the morning, when the world was silent and dark, and the only sound was the creaking and groaning of the house or the occasional sound of a faraway car… in the darkness, Harry wasn't doing a good job of lying to himself.

In the darkness, Harry knew that Tracey and Pansy had abandoned him.

It was the smart thing to do. The logical, rational, practical thing to do. At Hogwarts, in a house full of the sons and daughters of Death Eaters, being friends with Harry Potter was not a reasonable course of action. Harry told himself, over and over, that he had to be prepared for Pansy and Tracey to turn their backs on him at the start of the school year. But as much as he repeated it to himself in the night, the tiny surviving glimmer of hope flared to life in his heart in the morning, rising anew with the sun.

As had been the case all summer, Harry's emotions were caught in a vicious cycle.

The one small reprieve was that Hedwig had managed to deliver Harry's letter to Hermione, and even returned with a reply. Unfortunately, Hermione's response was short and cryptic. Her letter alluded to being places that Harry had never been, and meeting people that Harry had never met, and having conversations about information to which Harry was not privy. It all seemed very exciting, and Harry was terribly jealous.

Harry awoke with a start at eight o'clock, when Petunia loudly knocked on his door and announced that his breakfast was waiting on the floor outside his door. Harry had fallen asleep at his desk, resting his face on his arms, Hermione's letter unfolded beneath him. He hadn't even realized that he had been tired.

After breakfast, Harry tried to pass time by reading, but it was impossible to maintain his concentration. He could scarcely believe that he had been fighting a dementor only twelve hours earlier. Every time he tried to settle in with his book, his mind drifted to the events of the previous day—the fight, the chase, the dementor; the fight, the chase, the dementor… it was an endless cycle, running through his head again and again.

Harry eventually abandoned his book and returned to physical activity. With the noise of a normal day taking place, the sounds of his running footsteps were no longer the annoyance that they had been in the middle of the night.

Harry jogged in place and did pushups until sweat was running down his shirt. He grabbed a towel and headed toward the bathroom, only to find that his door had been locked. Harry raised his fist and began to pound on the door, loudly and repeatedly.

After a few moments, Harry heard his uncle's heavy footsteps lumber up the stairs.

"What do you want?" Vernon shouted through the door.

"I need to shower," Harry said.

"Er…"

"You have to treat me with basic decency," Harry said. "If you don't, think of what will happen when my godfather finds out."

Muttering curses, Vernon opened Harry's door. "You have ten minutes," Vernon declared.

"I'll see you in thirty," Harry said, pushing past his uncle and striding into the bathroom. Harry locked the door behind him.

Forty-five minutes later, Harry emerged from the bathroom. His shower had only taken ten minutes, but he had stayed under the running water for another half-hour, trying to rinse away the grimy sense of doom that seemed to cling to his skin.

Also, he made sure that no hot water remained for anyone else in the house.

When Harry stepped into the hallway, Vernon was scowling, but that was nothing new. Vernon pointed at Harry's bedroom door: "Go. Now."

Harry complied.

This routine repeated itself for the next two days, except that the Dursleys took care to ensure that they had all showered before Harry, rather than waiting until after. It was on the evening of the third day that Vernon announced through Harry's locked bedroom door that the Dursleys were travelling to receive an award for good lawnkeeping. Harry had never heard of any such thing, but Vernon's pride in his lawn was famous among the neighborhood.

Vernon advised that Harry was not to touch, use, move, or otherwise interact with any property of the Dursleys. Similarly, Harry was forbidden from watching anything on the television, listening to anything on the radio, reading anything in the paper, or making any attempt to communicate with the outside world.

"Have I made myself clear?" Vernon asked at the end of his tirade.

"I'm locked in my room," Harry snapped in reply. "Unless you plan on letting me out, I think you're safe."

Vernon huffed so loudly that Harry could hear it through the door. A short while later, Harry heard the Dursleys lock the front door and drive away in the car.

Good riddance. Now Harry could really spend some time getting in shape.

As the sun set, Harry worked himself until his breath was coming in ragged gasps. He had only barely finished a set of pushups when he would heave himself to his feet and begin running in place. After a mad dash, he would drop to the floor and begin a series of sit-ups, after which he would roll over and begin pushups once again.

Finally, Harry collapsed onto his bed, arms spread wide. He didn't want to stop, but there was nothing to be gained by working himself to the point of dehydration. After all, he couldn't get out of his room, so he would have to wait until the Dursleys returned to get himself a drink of water.

The door to Harry's room opened with a click.

Harry scrambled across his bed and seized his wand, which lay close at hand on his nightstand. He turned and pointed his wand at his door and the darkness of the hallway beyond. He remained there, frozen, for several moments, but nobody entered his room.

Harry drew himself up off the bed and crept forward. No sound came from the hallway. He briefly considered casting _hominem revalio_, a spell that he had seen Snape cast a few years earlier in the Hogwarts library, to determine who was in the house… but casting a spell would give him another citation for Underage Magic, and there was no proof that he was defending himself from imminent harm.

Harry sighed. It seemed that he would be forced to explore on his own. Harry took two quick steps forward and into the hallway, slashing his wand back and forth, ready to cast a disarming charm at the slightest hint of motion, but there was none. He was alone in the darkness… but at the end of the halls, where the stairs led down to the foyer, there was light.

And voices.

Harry moved cautiously forward. He had the high ground, and if anybody charged up the stairs, Harry would have the advantage. But there were no thundering footsteps, no shadows of advancing Death Eaters. Instead, as Harry finally approached the top of the stairs, a familiar voice called out.

"Holster that wand, boy, before you put somebody's eye out!"

"Yeah, Moody's only got one left!"

"Quiet, Tonks."

Harry had no idea who the second voice was, but the other voice was his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Mad-Eye Moody. Former professor, actually—Harry had read in the _Prophet_ that Moody quit in order to come out of retirement as an auror, but the Ministry had turned him away. Regardless, Moody would not be teaching at Hogwarts this fall.

Harry did not lower his wand, as he had been ordered. Constant vigilance. Instead, Harry flattened himself against the wall and continued cautiously down the stairs. Until the intruders had come into view, he wasn't lowering his guard.

"Heh. Smart kid. Looks like something I taught him got through that thick skull," Moody said. "Potter! You and I had a conversation in my office last year, just before the start of the tournament. Think about that conversation for a moment."

Harry paused. Moody had pulled Harry into his office after Harry had warned Cedric about the dragons. And then Moody had badgered Harry about having a conscience, and they had talked about a hypothetical situation…

"…about a man drowning in a lake," Moody finished. "Ring any bells? Satisfy your questions about my identity?"

Harry let out the breath he had been holding, and stepped away from the wall. Harry still didn't put his wand away, but he did walk confidently down into the foyer. A crowd of wizards was waiting in the sitting room, just off the foyer—Moody, of course, was among the crowd, but also a young, pink haired witch with a heart shaped face.

"Wotcher, Harry!" the young witch called out. It was the other voice that Harry had heard, the one teasing Moody about his eye. Moody introduced her as Tonks, a Ministry Auror and his protégé.

There were several others as well; four men (Kingsley Shacklebolt, Elphias Doge, Dedalus Diggle, and Sturgis Podmore) two women (Emmeline Vance and Hestia Jones) and one werewolf.

"Professor Lupin!" Harry shouted.

"Not any longer," Lupin said. "At least, not 'professor.' At this point, I think a simple 'Remus' will suffice."

Harry strode quickly forward, overcome by the sudden urge to hug his father's old friend, but Lupin had his hand out, waiting to shake Harry's. When Lupin saw Harry's open arms, he retracted his hand, but Harry had already pulled up short. The pair looked at one another, awkwardly, until Harry reached out and grabbed Lupin's upper arm.

"It's great to see you," Harry said. "Calling you Remus might take some getting used to, though."

"You call Sirius by his first name well enough," Lupin countered. He reached forward and patted Harry on the shoulder.

"Enough of this huggy-huggy business," Moody said. "Pack your things, Potter. It's time to go."

"Tonight?"

"Yes, tonight," Moody said gruffly. "Dumbledore sent us to get you. Your Aunt and Uncle are gone, and we have to strike while the iron is hot! Unless you'd rather wait for them to return…"

"No way," Harry said. "I'll be right back down." Harry dashed up the stairs and grabbed his trunk, which was thankfully already packed. He seized Hedwig's cage with his other hand, tucked his Firebolt under his arm, and was back down the stairs in under a minute, trunk thumping behind him.

"Already packed, Harry?" asked Tonks.

"I've been ready to go for days," Harry said.

"Good," said Moody. "We're leaving by broom. Tonks, shrink that trunk."

Before Tonks shrunk Harry's trunk for travel, Harry removed a quidditch cloak and his dragonhide gloves. Flying would be cold work at this time of night, and depending on how high they flew it might be absolutely freezing.

Outside the house, a set of brooms was floating on the lawn. They looked conspicuously out of place in the resolutely normal yard of Number Four, Privet Drive. Seeing Harry's confusion, Lupin offered an explanation: "Notice-me-not charms," he said. "Very effective on muggles, especially in the dark."

Harry nodded. As the older wizards climbed atop their brooms, Harry followed suit. His trunk, shrunk to tiny proportions and lightened with a featherweight charm, was tucked in his pocket.

"Everybody ready?" Moody called. "Be prepared for anything—we don't know if anybody has gotten wind of our plan to move Potter. If we're attacked, Potter stays with me and Tonks, while everybody else scatters."

"We get it, Moody," Tonks said. "You told us fifteen times on the way over. Let's stop wasting time!"

Moody mumbled something that, to Harry, sounded suspiciously like, "Damn kids." The grizzled old wizard pushed off the ground and rocketed into the air. Harry followed quickly, surrounded by the other witches and wizards.


	3. Chapter 3

Moody took them high into the sky, until they were flying among the clouds. Harry had no idea where they were going, and apparently neither did Moody. Their course swerved and curved at random, and their altitude changed so much that Elphias Dodge appeared to be getting sick to his stomach. After over an hour of flying, Harry was beginning to feel the cold of the night air seeping through his quidditch robes. Thirty minutes after that, Harry could hardly feel his toes when he wiggled them. Thanks to his dragonhide gloves, however, Harry still had a firm grip on his broom.

Tonks suddenly appeared on Harry's right. "Moody!" she called. "We've had enough! It's time to land!"

"Just a few more turns," Moody said. "We have to make sure we aren't leading the enemy to headquarters!"

"There IS NO ENEMY," Tonks said. "Look around! It's just us! They don't care!"

Moody shook his head. "Constant vigilance!"

"I've refreshed my warming charms a half-dozen times," Tonks said. "I'm not doing it again. Remus and I are taking Harry and we're landing. If you want to continue flying around like a crazed albatross, you're welcome to it."

Moody frowned. "Fine." He descended abruptly, leaving Tonks and Harry in his wake.

"You doing alright, Harry?" Tonks asked.

"Jealous of your warming charms," Harry said through clenched teeth.

"You know how to do a warming charm, don't you?" Tonks asked. Her broom was headed downwards, and Harry moved to follow her. "I mean, you made it through that tournament!"

"I'm fifteen, and I'm being investigated for underage magic," Harry said. "Seems like a bad idea to go around casting frivolous warming charms."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Tonks seemed genuinely concerned—Harry liked her.

"Moody was doing that on purpose," Harry said. "He doesn't like me, and he's always trying to put me through the paces. This might not earn his respect, but at least I didn't lose any." Harry looked down. They had sunk below the clouds, and were approaching a well-lit street in what appeared to be a muggle city. "Where are we going?" Harry asked.

Tonks opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She smiled, then shook her head. "You'll have to ask Dumbledore when we get there."

Harry did not have long to wait. As Harry floated to the ground, he saw Dumbledore standing at the side of the street, waiting calmly under a darkened streetlamp. The houses on the street were packed tightly together, with the exception of a small, empty lot, perhaps ten feet across, that was directly behind the streetlamp. Harry hopped off his broom and immediately approached Dumbledore.

"Hello, Professor."

"Hello, Harry." Dumbledore extended his hand, which was holding a small piece of paper. "Read this, please."  
Harry read: _The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is Number 12, Grimmauld Place._

Harry looked up. "What's the Order…" Harry's voice trailed away. The empty lot was gone. In its place was an enormous, beautifully appointed house.

Harry looked at Dumbledore. "How?"

"The fidelus charm," Dumbledore said kindly. Behind him, the wizards that had retrieved Harry were marching into the house, one after another. "Please, come inside. I assure you, we will explain as much as we can." Dumbledore placed a hand on Harry's shoulders, and gently pushed Harry forward. Harry, mouth still gaping, allowed himself to be led into the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.

*!*!*!*

Number 12, Grimmauld Place was true to its name: a grim, old place. Every inch of the house seemed to be covered in dust, grime, or some kind of filth. The hallway that led off the foyer was full of portraits, and almost all the portraits were covered in drop cloths. The only portrait which remained uncovered was that of a glowering, dark-haired man in green robes. As Harry passed he noticed that the brass nameplate claimed that the wizard was Phineas Nigellus Black, a former Hogwarts headmaster.

Dumbledore led Harry briskly down the hall, past several dark rooms, down the stairs and into the kitchen. The kitchen was the first well-lit room that Harry had seen, and it was bursting with people. The team who had rescued Harry from Privet Drive was crowded inside, along with several Weasleys. Harry saw that Molly was at the stove, and Arthur was sitting at the table with Ron and, surprisingly, Hermione. Harry waved and they waved back, but Arthur was not letting either of them walk away from the conversation. In the opposite corner of the room were Fred and George, and they were speaking with a wizard that Harry recognized as Mundungus Fletcher.

There was a slam as the door behind Harry closed. He turned, and saw that Dumbledore had already left the room. When the door to the kitchen opened again, all thoughts of Dumbledore left Harry's mind.

"Harry!" Sirius shouted. Sirius stepped forward and clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Did you make it alright?"

"Not a problem," Harry said cheerfully. He felt a surge of happiness, the sort of happiness that he hadn't felt in a long time. Sure, Harry and Sirius had their differences, but they had certainly grown closer over the last year. And the absence of Harry's friends this summer had made Harry desperate for companionship. He was willing to set aside his feelings if it meant having a close friend again.

"No problem, except for Moody trying to freeze us all to death," Tonks offered. She rose from the dinner table and came over to speak with Sirius and Harry.

"So, you've met my favorite cousin, I take it?" Sirius asked.

"Tonks is your cousin?"

"You'd never know by looking at her," Sirius said. "I think she keeps the pink hair so that nobody mistakes her for a Black."

"Got a problem with it?" Tonks asked menacingly.

"Not at all, Nymphadora," Sirius said.

Tonks punched Sirius in the arm, hard. "Don't call me that."

Sirius laughed, but rubbed his arm where Tonks had hit him. "You get the same spot every time," he said.

"I know."

Sirius turned back to Harry. "So, what do you think of the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix? Musty enough for you?"

"What's the Order of the Phoenix?" Harry asked.

"Just a little side project of Dumbledore's," Sirius said. "This is its second incarnation. Reincarnation, if you will. During the last war, Dumbledore put together a small group of dedicated individuals who directly fought Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Now that Voldy is back, so is the Order."

"Wait, Professor Lupin mentioned this during third year, I think," Harry said.

"Call me Remus!" Lupin shouted from across the room.

"Remus, then," Harry said. "He said that in the last war, Dumbledore suspected that there was a spy in the Order."

Sirius nodded. "This is it. Your parents were members, and so were Remus and I. And Peter."

"Sirius!" Molly Weasley was calling from across the room, where she was managing two enchanted knives that were dicing vegetables. Behind her, two pots were boiling over. "Can you get your elf to give me a spot of help?"

"No," Sirius called back. "But I can make his life hell when he refuses!" Sirius turned and stepped out of the kitchen, yelling as he left. "KREACHER!"

Harry glanced back at Tonks. "Is it always like this?" Harry asked.

"No. It's only exciting when I'm here." The auror gave him a grin, and Harry grinned back.

There was a burst of laughter from the corner. Harry turned to see Fred and George slapping their knees as they guffawed, and Mundungus Fletcher wiping his eyes as he laughed.

"And then," said Fletcher, "And then I sells 'im back 'is own cauldrons!"

Fred and George laughed uproariously again, but Harry saw that Tonks was frowning.

"Come with me," Tonks said quietly to Harry.

Harry followed the pink-haired auror into the corner of the kitchen. She threw an arm around Fred's shoulders and began to laugh, as well.

"I can't believe you swindled Señor like that," Tonks said. "I'd have loved to see the look on his face."

"It were priceless," Fletcher said. "You wouldn't'a believed it."

"Where'd he say all this was?" Tonks asked Fred casually.

"I didn'," Fletcher replied. He gave Tonks a grin, and Harry saw that Fletcher was missing several teeth. "And I won', not when yer aroun'."

"Dammit, Dung!" Tonks shouted. Her hair turned red. "Señor's a slimeball! He's responsible for half the magical crimes in London!"

"An' that's why I don' wanter be on 'is bad side," Fletcher replied. "Get someone else to turn 'im in, 'cause it won' be me." Fletcher turned to Harry and extended his hand. "By the way, sorry 'bout that mess from a few days ago."

Harry looked and Fletcher's grimy hand and drew back, slightly. "You're _sorry_? I might get my wand snapped because of you."

"It's jus' a little misunderstandin'," Fletcher began.

"No, it's not," Harry snapped. "You were shirking your duties, and now I'm paying the price."

With every second he spent around Mundungus Fletcher, Harry liked the man less. Not only were several of Fletcher's teeth missing, but his breath smelled rotten, as well. And now that Harry had a longer look, he was able to see that Fletcher wasn't just dressed shabbily—he was dirty, as if he hadn't bathed recently. Frankly, if Harry had been walking down the street and saw Fletcher coming towards him, Harry would have looked for some excuse to cross to the other side, just so that he wouldn't have to be near the man. And that _accent_. He sounded like the out-of-work men who sometimes hung around the bar in Little Whinging. Harry had no desire to speak with, or even be in the same room as, Mundungus Fletcher.

Fletcher shook his shoulders. "Well, I kin tell where I'm not wanted." He tipped an imaginary hat toward Fred, George and Tonks. "Gentlemen. Madam Auror." He stepped between the twins and shuffled out of the kitchen.

"That man infuriates me," Tonks said. "Dung knows I've been after Señor ever since he popped up in London, and he won't even give me a scrap!"

"Why is he even a member of the Order?" Harry asked.

Tonks rolled her eyes. "He has his uses. Dung has connections that the rest of us don't have, and he owes Dumbledore a favor. Or two. Dozen."

"Tonks, get over here!" Moody was yelling from the dinner table, where he was using his wand to push salt and pepper shakers around in some sort of complex diagram. "I need you to tell these louts about proper battle tactics!"

"I'll be right there!" Tonks yelled back. She turned to Harry. "Duty calls. See you around, Harry." And with a wink, the heart faced wizard was gone.

"There goes a wonderful wisp of a witch if I ever watched one," Fred said. George nodded silently, and Harry noted that neither of them was looking at Tonks' hair as she walked away. Substantially lower, in fact.

Harry glanced downward, and found himself entranced by the sight as well. It was only when Tonks sat at the table that Harry, Fred and George were released from the enchanting sight of her bum.

"So, how have you two been this summer?" Harry asked.

"Great," said George.

Harry sighed. It was always that sort of conversation when he tried to talk to George—no matter how open-ended the question, the majority of the answers were monosyllabic. "How is research and development going?"

"Better, now that Dung's around," George said.

"Ugh, really?" Harry said. "He's so… dirty. In every sense of the word."

"He doesn't dress any lousier than Lupin," Fred said.

"Lupin's got class, at least," Harry said.

"But Dung has connections that nobody else does," George said, paraphrasing Tonks. "And that means we get ingredients that nobody else can get."

"He's really that good?"

"Really," George said.

Harry sighed. He understood what George was saying. Sometimes you had to work with undesirables. But that didn't mean that Harry had to like it. "You have to do what you have to do, I guess," Harry said. "I like making galleons as much as the next person, so I won't make any more noise about it. But if he tries to apologize to me again, I'll punch him in the nose."

"We'll aim him elsewhere," Fred said cheerfully.

"Thanks," Harry said. "How are things, otherwise? How's the family? Percy doing well?" Hermione had mentioned in her letter to Harry that Percy was found on the edge of starvation by McGonagall at the end of last year.

"Bouncing back beautifully," Fred said. "He's surprised that nobody at the Ministry noticed his absence last year. He feels underappreciated, and underappreciation means that he is now undermining the current undersecretary."

"What?" Harry had gotten confused.

"He's spying on Fudge's cronies for us," George said. "Percy realized that nobody at the Ministry really cared about him."

"Oh. Excellent." Harry smiled. "That sounds dead useful."

"Oh! And, before I forget…" Fred reached into his robes and pulled out a letter. "Charlie left this for you, before he went back to Romania."

Harry took the letter and opened it. The handwriting was messy, and reminded him quite a bit of Ron's.

_Harry,_

_I thought you might like an update on the dragon's egg that you saved at the tournament. The egg hatched in late winter, and the dragon has been growing at a normal rate. In other words, she's already huge!_

Harry laughed a little to himself. The experience with Norbert during his first year had taught him loads about the rapid speed at which dragons grow.

_We've started to call her Sally, because she was saved by a Slytherin. Her scales are a nice emerald, which a color that isn't often seen in a Swedish Shortsnout. As if that weren't enough, she has a bright white splash of scales on her forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt! I asked Dumbledore about it, and he suspects that something happened when you drew on her egg with those ashes. It's better than any other theory we have. I'm wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it myself._

_Sally is doing very well on the reserve, and enjoys frolicking with the other dragons. (That's a joke, by the way—all dragons hate one another. It's a miracle that they ever manage to breed. ) In all seriousness, though, Sally is terrific with the dragon handlers. We've learned more from Sally in six months than we've learned from all our other dragons in the last six years. It's like she was born to interact with wizards._

_On a lark, I showed her your picture before I left the reserve for the summer. She gave a big snort of fire, and set my whole arm alight. I think she was happy, but I can't be sure, because I was trying to avoid dying. I'll try again later, from a safer distance. We've never been sure if dragons can see or hear while they're still in the egg, but with your picture I'm hoping to find out._

_And lastly, speaking of the tournament, thanks for saving Percy for all of us. He might be a berk, but he's our berk._

_Sincerely,_

_Charlie_

Harry saw a paper clip at the bottom of the letter. He tugged it, and saw that a picture had been attached to the back of the page. It showed Charlie in full dragonhide regalia, right arm thoroughly bandaged, standing in front of a green dragon with white lightning-bolt scales on her forehead. As Harry watched, Charlie waved at the camera. After a moment, the dragon blew a bit of fire from its nostrils, and Charlie ran out of the picture in fright. A few seconds later, he slowly returned, and waved at Harry again.

Harry felt relief wash over him. At least _something _had managed to go well last year.

"What does our dear brother have to say?" Fred asked.

"Dragon's doing well on the reserve," Harry said. "Thanks for saving Percy. The usual stuff."

Molly's voice rang out over the kitchen, once again interrupting all conversation. "Ronald Billius Weasley—OUT!"

"Mum, come on! I'm old enough!" Ron was standing at the table, arms folded across his chest, striking a pose that made him look distinctly childish.

"You are not! Out of this kitchen, this instant! Hermione, you too!"

"We have a right to know what's going on in the Order!" Ron said. He ignored Hermione, who was tugging at his elbow.

"You do not need to know anything about anything, because you are a schoolboy! Now, scat!" Mrs. Weasley waved her wooden spoon at Ron, shooing him and Hermione away from the table until they were standing next to Fred, George and Harry. "Take your brothers with you! And Harry, as well." Mrs. Weasley paused for a moment. "Hello, Harry, dear."

"Hello, Mrs. Weasley," Harry replied.

"Now, all of you, out!"

"Fred and I are seventeen," George said calmly. "If we want to join the Order, I think it's our choice."

Mrs. Weasley frowned and pointed her spoon at George's eyes. "Do you want to test that theory?"

George went a little white in the face. "Er…"

Harry turned his head slightly down and brushed his hair back, using the gesture to hide his mouth from Mrs. Weasley. "Let it go," he whispered.

"No, I don't," George said to his mother. "There will be no testing."

"Good," Mrs. Weasley said. "Now, all of you… out!"

When everybody was out in the hall and the door to the kitchen was locked, George rounded on Harry. "What's your great plan, now?"

"Yeah," Ron said. "Now we won't know anything!"

"Or I could ask Sirius, and he'll tell us everything," Harry said.

Fred, meanwhile, was searching through his pockets. "And we have the opportunity to test the newest Weasley Wizarding Wheeze: Extendable Ears!" He pulled a handful of fleshy, ear-shaped lumps from his pocket. Attached to each of them was what appeared to be a long string.

"How do they work?" Ron asked.

"First, we hide," Fred said. He led everybody upstairs, safely out of sight of the kitchen, and handed out the ears once they were safely on the landing. "Next, you wrap this bit around your ear…" He demonstrated on himself. "Then you use your wand to put the ear wherever you need it to be!" With a quick wave, the ear shot down the stairs and hovered near the edge of the door.

"And for those of us who are underage?" Harry asked.

"You're worried about the Trace?" Ron laughed. "That only works when you're alone. If there's an adult around, the Ministry can't tell who's casting the spell."

"Seriously?" Harry asked. "That seems like a horrific loophole."

Ron shrugged as he donned his own Extendable Ear. "The Ministry trusts parents to enforce the underage magic restrictions. Or something."

"Maybe we shouldn't be doing this," Hermione said, glancing at the ear in her hand.

"Maybe it's exactly what we _should_ be doing," Harry countered. He wrapped his own Extendable Ear and raised his wand.

"That doesn't make sense," Hermione said.

"Doesn't it?"

"You can't just say the opposite of whatever I say and pretend that you're winning an argument."

"I'm not pretending," Harry said. He used his wand to send the ear down the stairwell. "You can join us, or you can get your information secondhand. Or thirdhand. Your choice."

Hermione once again glanced at the Extendable Ear in her hand. "Ugh. Fine." She began to wrap it around her ear, a grimace on her face.

"I think you're a bad influence on her, mate," Ron said.

"I know I am," Harry replied. "Now hush up, they're about to start."

*!*!*!*

**A/N:** _So, I've been having a pretty productive month in terms of writing. This is good news, for those of you who like this story to continue uninterrupted._


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** _Last week, during a conversation with a reviewer, I discovered something that blew my mind. Two people who have read my story have met in real life and mentioned it to one another. This. Is. Crazy._

* * *

Harry awoke the next morning to the knocks of Mrs. Weasley at his bedroom door. "Harry, you have a visitor in the library," she called through the door.

The previous night, Harry had learned quite a bit about the Order. Some of the members were following known Death Eaters—Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, and a few other names that Harry hadn't recognized. Others were recruiting new members for the Order; there was talk of Fleur Delacour joining, which earned a smile from Ron and a scowl from Hermione and Ginny. As the meeting began to get truly interesting—the Order members began discussing guard duty—Molly Weasley had unexpectly stepped out of the kitchen and onto an Extendable Ear. Fred gave a shout of pain and tore the ear away from his head.

"Didn't think it would do _that_," George had said calmly. Then Molly was charging up the stairs, yelling and waving her arms as she went, and Harry and his friends scattered to their various bedrooms. Molly chose to follow Fred and George, who were made a desperate attempt to hide their supply of Extendable Ears to prevent Molly from binning them. Harry had heard a series of pops around the house as Fred and George apparated and disappareted in rapid succession, tucking things away before their mother could locate them. When Molly was finally able to catch the twins, she gave them an earful, but that was all.

Mrs. Weasley seemed to be in a much better mood this morning, though. She waited for Harry to get dressed, then led Harry downstairs. Harry followed behind, taking his time to look upon his surroundings in the light of day. The sunlight made things seem less dreary but significantly more dirty; Harry could see that what he had mistaken for a thin layer of dust was actually a thick film.

"The library is just over there, dear," Mrs. Weasley said. "I'll be in the kitchen with breakfast once you're done."

As Mrs. Weasley entered the kitchen, Harry saw that it was completely empty, except for Mrs. Weasley herself. He shouldn't have been surprised, really. Most of the Order members would have day jobs, and last night's crowded activity must have been an exception rather than the rule. Harry wondered why there would have been so much excitement last night, but a moment later he realized that the reason was obvious: his arrival.

Harry turned toward the library. He was curious to know who his visitor was. Everybody that might want to see him was there last night: Hermione, the Weasleys, Sirius, Lupin. Harry couldn't think of anybody else who would want to see him… not anyone who would be admitted into the Order's secret headquarters, anyway. Eager to solve the mystery, Harry pushed opened the door of the library.

At the desk at the center of the room, seated next to a large stack of books, was Severus Snape.

"Professor Snape!?" Harry blurted.

"Finally awake, I see," Snape drawled. He gestured toward a chair near the desk. "Have a seat, Potter."

"I… didn't expect to see you here," Harry said as he crossed the room and sat down.

"And why is that?" Snape asked.

"Er… because… I mean…" Harry glanced down at Snape's right forearm, then realized that he was being horrifically impertinent. Harry turned his eyes to the ground, but Snape had already noticed.

"I am here because I am a member of the Order of the Phoenix," Snape said. "That is all that you need to know about the situation."

The door to the den burst open behind Harry, and Sirius entered the room. "Dumbledore keeps the greasy git around because he makes a good spy," Sirius said. "He's still a Death Eater."

"I would be a poor excuse for a spy if I were not," Snape said coolly.

"Watching you play both sides against one another makes me sick," Sirius said. "There's no way you can lose in this war, is there?"

Snape glowered at Sirius. "If you think that is true, then you are a greater fool than I thought. I perform valuable service to the Order, which is more than can be said for you. You've done nothing but sit in this house like a coward."

"On Dumbledore's orders," Sirius said, clenching his hands into fists. Harry could see that Snape's barb had struck home.

"I'm sure you love your little cage," Snape said. "You can sit here and talk a big fight, while the rest of the Order puts themselves at risk.

"Better to be penned in here than to be Voldemort's lap dog," Sirius snapped.

"Do you have an alternative proposition?" Snape asked. "The order needs a spy. Perhaps you could pretend to be the Dark Lord's long lost Labrador retriever? Although I think it is unlikely that the Dark Lord tells his most secret plans to his pets… because the Dark Lord is not a seven year old girl."

"You aren't so important that we couldn't get along without you," Sirius said.

Snape rolled his eyes. "Spare me the lecture. Potter and I have business to discuss. While you may have plenty of time to waste, I do not."

"Listen here, Snivellus…" Sirius stepped forward aggressively, but Harry reached out and put a hand on his arm.

"Sirius, stop," Harry said gently. "Just let Professor Snape say what he came to say."

"Fine," Sirius said. He stepped back and folded his arms across his chest.

"This is between Potter and me," Snape said slowly. "There is no need for you to be present."

"Harry's my godson," Sirius said. "I'm sure he doesn't mind if I stay."

Sirius and Snape both turned toward Harry. Harry looked from one to the other. Harry and Sirius were close, almost friends. Harry respected Snape, however, and he was Harry's head of house. Both of them, though, were acting like children. It was exhausting.

"I don't care," Harry said finally. "Sirius can stay. Let's just get this over with."

"Very well," said Snape. He reached out and pushed the pile of books toward Harry. "It is time for you to prepare your defense for your impending trial."

"He's my godson," Sirius said.

"You've made that abundantly clear," Snape replied quickly.

Sirius frowned. "The point is, I should be the one helping him prepare his defense."

Snape sneered at Sirius. "Given the amount of time you have spent in Azkaban, I think that Harry would be safer taking _my_ advice on the matter."

"I wasn't given a trial, and you know it," Sirius said, bristling with anger.

Snape allowed his sneer to blossom into a cold smile. "Since you admittedly have no experience with trials, it seems that I am the obvious choice to advise Harry."

"And you're especially familiar with wriggling away from punishment at trial, aren't you?"

"Sadly, yes," Snape said. His smile disappeared, and his mouth became a thin line. "I'm glad that we are in agreement on the matter." Snape turned back to Harry, and gestured at the stack of books. "I have selected these books from the Black family library. While some of the particulars may be out of date, the larger thrust of the books remains true to current law. The principles in these books will allow you to prepare your defense."

"Wait," Harry said. "Shouldn't I hire a solicitor?"

Snape shook his head. "No. There have been thirty-six convictions for second offense underage magic in the last decade. None of the juvenile wizards were represented by a solicitor, and none of the convictions resulted in the wizard's expulsion from Hogwarts or the forfeiture of the wizard's wand."

"So what?" Harry asked. "I don't want to be the first."

"The fact that you have hired a solicitor may cause the Wizengamot to think that you have something to hide," Snape said. "They will wonder why you need a solicitor, if you did nothing wrong."

"That sounds stupid," Harry said. "I need a solicitor because I _didn't _do anything wrong, and he's supposed to prove it!"

"While it might be improper to infer your guilt from the fact that you hired a solicitor, I am certain that some members of the Wizengamot would do so," Snape said. "Solicitors are almost never hired in cases of underage magic. The presence of a solicitor could make the Wizengamot weigh the evidence against you more heavily, or punish you more severely."

"That's crap," Harry said.

"A crude but accurate assessment. However, there are other reasons to present your own defense," Snape said. "If you hire a solicitor, you must inform him of the facts of this incident so that he can mount a sufficient defense. And while the ethics of his profession might mandate his silence, he will immediately become a target for the Dark Lord. I have found that an ethical duty of confidentiality means little when one is being subjected to the Cruciatus curse."

"So, if I hire a lawyer, I'm signing his execution order?"

Snape nodded solemnly.

"What if I don't tell him everything?" Harry said.  
"Then your defense is less effective, and why would you hire a solicitor at all? Further, it is not the solicitor's _actual_ knowledge that would lead to his capture and torture. The mere _perception _of knowledge would make him a target."

"So I have to do it on my own," Harry said quietly.

"That's preposterous," Sirius said, unable to maintain his silence. "Most of the Wizengamot studied to be barristers and solicitors before turning to politics. Harry is going to be eaten alive!"

Snape turned calmly to Sirius. "Dumbledore thinks it best."

"Dumbledore?" Sirius blurted. "Dumbledore. Dumbledore told you to do this?"

"I failed to mention that?" Snape asked. "Dear me. I am here on Dumbledore's orders, how could I have forgotten…"

"Don't play me for a fool, Snivellus." Sirius pointed a finger at Snape's chest.

"Then don't act like one, Black." Snape rose from his chair and leaned forward on the desk. "There are larger forces at work here, and greater considerations than your ego."

"STOP IT!" Harry yelled, waving his hands in the air. Snape and Sirius were bickering like children again. How had it fallen to Harry to act as the parent? "I can prepare my own case. I'm certainly clever enough, and I have the resources. I won't be defenseless."

"If you want a solicitor," Sirius said, "I'll hire one for you. Dumbledore be damned."

"I can do this," Harry said calmly. "I can." Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but Harry cut him off. "Look at what I've done over the past two years. I rescued you from execution, and I rescued you from dementors. I survived and won the Tri-Wizard Tournament. I dueled and defeated Peter Pettigrew _and_ Voldemort."

"Do not say the Dark Lord's name," Snape snapped automatically.

Harry held his arms out in mock surrender. Now was not the time to have this fight. "I'm just saying that I've done a lot of things that you wouldn't expect from a fifteen year old wizard. Compared to everything else, this is cake."

"Well…" Sirius frowned. "If you need any help…"

"I think the point is for me to do this alone," Harry said, and Snape nodded in agreement. "Dumbledore probably thinks it'll be some sort of learning experience…"

"Consider public opinion," Snape said to Harry. "The Ministry has relentlessly attacked your character over the course of the last three months. This is your opportunity to show that you are a well-spoken, well-mannered, well-educated wizard. And the more force the Ministry brings to bear in this particular attack….

"…the more the Ministry seems like a big bully," Harry finished. He turned back to Sirius. "It has to be me, and it has to be authentic."

Sirius screwed his mouth to one side, as if he had just eaten something distasteful. "Fine, then. But I don't like it."

"You don't have to," Snape said. "It isn't your decision."

"He's my godson," Sirius said once again.  
"Over the last five years, Harry has spent far more time in my care than in yours," Snape said. "He has turned out better because of it."

"And yet you're throwing him to the wolves," Sirius said.

"I would not allow Harry, or any other of my Slytherins, to be improperly expelled from Hogwarts," Snape said. "If I thought that Harry could not accomplish this task, then I would not have set it before him."

Harry's heart swelled. Expressions of approval from Snape were rare, even among Slytherins. Harry resolved to study the law even more vigorously than he had planned, so that Snape would not be disappointed.

Sirius, meanwhile, had narrowed his eyes in frustration; Snape had him backed into a corner. If he disagreed with Snape, then Sirius would be saying that he didn't trust Harry to win the trial. If Sirius agreed with Snape… then he was _agreeing_ with _Snape_. Both options were unpalatable.

"It's still a bad idea," Sirius said lamely.

"Again, it is not your decision to-" Snape abruptly stopped speaking, and hissed in pain. He grabbed his left wrist with his right arm and closed his eyes tightly. "I must go," Snape said, voice straining. With a swirl of his dark cloak, he rushed out of the dining room.

"What was that?" Harry asked.

"Snivellus's dark mark burns when Voldemort summons him," Sirius said. "He has to scamper away, or he'll be whipped like a mule."

Harry shook his head. "I wish you two wouldn't fight so much."

"It's just the way Snivellus is," Sirius said. "He will always be a git, and I will always have a low tolerance for gits."

"And I wish you wouldn't insult each other. Not when you're talking to me, anyway. He's my head of house, and you're my godfather, and I like you both."

A look of concern crossed Sirius's face. "I'm sorry, Harry. I guess it has to be hard watching us fight."

It was hard. Harry liked Sirius and Harry liked Snape, but the two older wizards fought over Harry's attention like two dogs fighting over a toy. Sometimes, Harry felt like he was being torn in two.

"Just forget it," Harry said dejectedly. "Why should I expect adults to act like adults? I know you two are going to fight, so I guess I shouldn't even try to stop it."

"No, you're right," Sirius said. "It isn't good for us to fight like that. Not in front of you, at least. If I have a problem with Snape, I'll take it up with Snape. From now on, I'm leaving you out of it."

"Thank you," Harry said gratefully. He stood and walked over to the stack of books. When he reached them, he opened the cover of the top book and absently read the title page. "I guess I should get started on my defense…"

"Actually, there's something I wanted to talk to you about," Sirius said. "There wasn't a good time to talk about it last night…"

Harry let the cover of the book fall shut. "What's that?"

"How are you doing after last year?" Sirius asked. The older wizard sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk, and Harry did the same.

"Fine, I guess," Harry said, lying automatically. "I'm better now that I'm here with Hermione and Ron. It was getting really boring at the Dursleys."

"That isn't what I meant," Sirius said. He gave Harry a significant look.

"I don't want to talk about that," Harry said, glancing down at the floor. Cedric's death was too fresh of a wound.

"Sometimes the things we need to talk about the most are the things we want to talk about the least," Sirius said gravely.

Harry frowned. "And sometimes the things we don't want to talk about are the things we shouldn't talk about."

"You know that you can tell me anything, Harry," Sirius said. "Your father knew all of my secrets, and I knew all of his." He looked at Harry expectantly.

Harry sighed and looked away. He hated it when Sirius gave him those puppy eyes—they made him feel so guilty.

"I've been having bad dreams," Harry said finally. "I mean, I was having bad dreams all of last year, but they're getting worse. I dream of Cedric and me in the house, a lot. Sometimes, I know what's going to happen but I can't change what I'm going to do. It's like I'm trapped in my body, and I have to watch it happen all over again. Other times I can change things, but I can't change them fast enough. It's like I'm trying to run underwater."

"Are those the only dreams you're having?" Sirius asked.

Harry shook his head. "I dream about a lot of things. I dream about Voldemort a lot. Those are different each time, though." Harry ran a hand through his hair. "And I dream about a door."

"A door?" Sirius sounded perplexed, as if he had expected Harry to say something else.

"It's a big door," Harry said. "And blue. Or, at least, there's blue light. I want to know what's behind it. I'm desperate to get to the other side. But it's always locked."

"Where is it?" Sirius asked.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. But there's something I want on the other side." Harry laughed, suddenly. "It sounds so stupid. Forget I even said it."

"If you say so." Sirius smiled, then looked concerned once again. "Is that all that's been bothering you, Harry?"

"Of course not," Harry said. "I've been worried sick about what's going to happen when I go back to school. Draco probably hates me, along with most of the rest of my house. Pansy hasn't returned a single one of my letters this summer, so you can probably put my girlfriend in that same group. Tracey is the only person I was sure I could count on in Slytherin, and she hasn't answered a single letter this summer. Hasn't even accepted them." Harry rolled his eyes. "And I have this stupid Underage Magic trial that might result in my expulsion. And _The Daily Prophet_ is smearing my name all over England. Other than that, I'm happy as a clam." Harry rolled his eyes.

Sirius reached out and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I know it's hard. I dealt with a lot of the same things, actually." Sirius stood and gestured to Harry. "Come on, I want to show you something."

Sirius led Harry through the house, up the stairs, and into a large room. Sirius gestured to the wall nearest the door. "Behold, the Black Family Tree."

The family tree was enormous, and took up the majority of the wall. Harry's eyes roved around, and he saw many names he recognized, including Draco and Mrs. Malfoy. Two or three, however, were significantly missing.

"Where are you?" Harry asked.

"There," Sirius said, pointing at a charred spot on the wall. "My mother burned me off the family tree when I was a teenager. When I was sorted into Gryffindor, she told me I was just going through 'a phase.' But by the time I was in fourth year, the first war was in full swing, and it was obvious which side I had chosen. My mother tried to disinherit me, but my father had already passed away, and the mandates of his will wouldn't allow it."

"Who's that?" Harry asked, pointed next to Sirius.

"Regelus," Sirius spat. "My brother. A Death Eater from the day he graduated from Hogwarts. He was the son that my parents wanted me to be."

"Did they all live here?"

Sirius nodded. "They're all gone, now. My mother died of a heart attack. Regelus… he simply disappeared."

"How do you know that he isn't coming back?"

"Because Kreacher follows my orders," Sirius said. "He's bound to my family. If anybody else was alive, he'd abandon me for them. In fact, that's how Dumbledore and I were able to determine that this would make an adequate headquarters for the Order."

Harry nodded. "Who else is burnt off?" He pointed to a spot between Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange.

"That's my cousin Andromeda, Tonk's mother," Sirius said. "She got burnt off for marrying a muggleborn wizard named Ted. As soon as Tonks-the-younger was born, she was burnt off as well."

Harry nodded slowly. The family tree was both fascinating and sad. It was exciting to see a family that was so closely bound together that they created this beautiful magical mural, but it was gloomy to see how fractured the family had become in the last war.

"I'm showing you this because I want you to know that I understand how you feel," Sirius said. "When I was the only Gryffindor in my family, I felt like I was never safe. It was like everybody was always against me. Nothing I ever said or did was right. Even my own mother…" Sirius shook his head. "It's why I have to keep her portrait covered. From the moment I returned to the house, she would scream her head off whenever I walked by, spouting the foulest insults." Sirius grinned sadly. "I have to give them credit, they really did capture her essence in that painting."

"I don't know how you could bear it," Harry said quietly.

"At the time, it didn't seem like I could. But I had your father, and he always supported me. Once, things got so bad that I had to run away from home. Your father was kind enough to open his doors for me, no questions asked." Sirius turned and smiled at Harry, though a little sadly. "I promise, Harry. Even though it seems impossible… it will get better."

"Thanks," Harry said. He really meant it. Even though Sirius hadn't made him feel better, the effort had certainly made Harry feel cared for.

"Are you sure there isn't anything else bothering you?" Sirius asked.

"Wasn't that enough?" Harry countered.

"Well…"

"Are you looking for something specific?" Harry said. "Am I missing something? Because you can just ask me. You don't have to keep beating around the bush."

Sirius rubbed his hand on his neck. "Okay, you caught me. I never could get anything like that past your mom, either."

"It's because you're in Gryffindor," Harry said with a smile. "You lack subtlety."

Sirius looked up at the ceiling. "I can't tell you how many times I have heard those words spoken in this house…"

"Well, let's get to it, then," Harry said. "What did you want to ask me?"

"Are you feeling okay after what happened with Peter?"

Harry felt a shiver run down his back. He hadn't been sure what to expect, but that certainly wasn't it. "I guess I'm okay," Harry said. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"It's okay if you're upset," Sirius said. "It's a hard thing, dueling for your life. And afterward, once you have time to sit and reflect about what happened… sometimes it hits you days, even weeks later."

Sirius didn't have to say what "it" was. He was talking about killing a man in the heat of combat. Because, as far as Sirius knew, Pettigrew had died in a duel with Harry. But that wasn't precisely true. Harry had killed Pettigrew, but Pettigrew had never even gotten the opportunity to draw his wand. Pettigrew had been helpless, fumbling at his pockets, when Harry's cutting curse sliced through his neck. And when Pettigrew finally managed to draw his wand from his pocket, as blood was pouring down the front of his body, Harry had ripped the wand away with a disarming charm. Pettigrew hadn't died in a duel… not exactly.

Pettigrew had been murdered.

"That doesn't upset me at all," Harry said to Sirius. He kept his face carefully blank. Emotionless. Inscrutable. "I don't regret anything that happened." It was the best type of lie, because it was the absolute truth. Harry didn't regret his actions, not for a second. It was just that Sirius's conception of Harry's actions differed slightly from the reality.

"You shouldn't be ashamed if you feel strange feelings," Sirius said. "In the first war, after I graduated, your father and I wound up fighting together in a duel. I killed a Death Eater, mostly by accident. We were dueling on a roof, and he jumped out of the way of one of my charms. He jumped the wrong way, though, and went right off the edge. One second he was there, and the next he was gone. He barely had time to scream. I heard his body hit the ground, though." Sirius grimaced. "I was a mess. It took me weeks before I was able to go out again. I just couldn't handle the thought that I had caused the death of another human being."

Harry shook his head. "Sirius, really. I'm fine. I was just finishing what you started when you went after Pettigrew on Halloween."

"Are you sure?" Sirius asked.

"Of course I'm sure," Harry said. There was nothing wrong with him. Killing Pettigrew hadn't affected him in any way. He was sure of it. Sure.

"Good," Sirius said. "I knew you'd say that."

"What's that mean?"

"I told Dumbledore that you would be fine," Sirius said. "Dumbledore was worried that you'd be devastated, but I knew you were made of sterner stuff."

"Dumbledore asked you to figure this out?" Harry said incredulously.

Sirius nodded. "He asks a lot about you, actually. I think he worries about you. Then again, if I had Harry Potter attending my school, I think I'd be worried about him, too."

Harry ignored Sirius's flippant remark. "Why couldn't Dumbledore just ask me himself?" Dumbledore had sent a half-dozen wizards to Privet Drive, when he could have just come to get Harry himself. Dumbledore had sent Snape to suggest the law books. Dumbledore had asked Sirius to pry into Harry's feelings. But last night, when Harry was standing right next to him, Dumbledore had hardly said two words to Harry.

"He's a busy man," Sirius said. He began to walk from the room, gesturing for Harry to follow. "There's a lot to do with the Order, along with his regular Hogwarts duties. And he has to try to combat all this misinformation that the Ministry is spewing." Sirius shrugged. "Sometimes he has to delegate things, I guess."

Harry, following behind Sirius, shook his head disgustedly. Delegate? Please. It sounded less like delegation, and more like Harry had to add another wizard to the list of people who didn't like him. Harry wasn't sure when it happened, or how, but it seemed as if he was no longer trusted by Albus Dumbledore.


	5. Chapter 5

After the chaos and bickering of Harry's first night and day at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, life at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix turned out to be surprisingly boring. Very little drama occurred, other than the incessant squabbling that sprang to life whenever Snape and Sirius were in the same room. Molly Weasley, backed by Dumbledore's orders, refused to allow Harry into the high-level Order meetings in which the important plans were discussed. The low-level meetings that Sirius allowed Harry to attend were painfully mundane.

Non-Order business was limited in its scope, as well; Number 12, Grimmauld Place had not been constructed with an eye toward entertaining school-aged wizards and witches. Molly Weasley had made it her mission to clean the house from top to bottom, while Kreacher the house elf had made it his mission to hide as many dusty relics of the Black family as he could. Otherwise, there was very little to do.

In short, Harry had no difficulty setting himself to reading.

The Black family library was enormous, and Harry's trial was rapidly approaching. Each day, Harry spent the morning reading books about magical law and the rules of magical courts in order to prepare for his case. He felt that he was constructing a good argument for self-defense, and he was fairly certain that the standard panel of three Wizengamot members would agree.

There were other books in the Black library that interested Harry, as well. When he came across them, he quickly pulled them from the shelves and tucked them into his school bag, taking care to ensure that nobody was around to see him doing so. At the earliest opportunity, Harry buried these books at the bottom of his trunk, underneath his quidditch gear and winter robes. These other books were for reading late at night, behind locked doors, when the watchful eyes of Order members did not abound. Harry was certain that the consequences of being discovered with these books would be rather severe… but he was also certain that these books were not the sort that Order members tended to read, and therefore would not be missed.

Every day after lunch, Harry found himself with idle hands. Harry knew that if he gave the appearance of having nothing to do, he would be swept up by Molly Weasley and set to doing chores. Mrs. Weasley was constantly trying to enlist her children (a group which, in her opinion, also included Harry and Hermione) in her effort to clean Grimmauld Place. Harry, as frequently as he could, used the excuse of further legal research to avoid the tedious and dusty work, but this excuse confined Harry to the library.

The twins, managing their own effort to avoid chores, tried to stay shut in their room. Harry knew that they were researching and developing their new line of products, which meant both "hiding their products from their mother," and "consuming their own experimental creations as a method of human testing." Mrs. Weasley tried every day to force the twins to help clean, but the two boys were constantly making themselves sick with one unfinished product or another. Harry wondered if some of these concoctions weren't actually _intended_ to make the twins sick… or, at least, _appear_ sick.

Hermione and Ron spent most of their time together, and both were easily ensnared in Mrs. Weasley's cleaning effort. In truth, Harry suspected that Hermione actually wantedto be given cleaning assignments by Mrs. Weasley, because they gave her an excuse to spend time in close quarters with Ron. Not that she needed much of an excuse; it was obvious to Harry that Ron was doing his best to spend time with Hermione, as well. Oddly, though, neither seemed to notice the other's efforts. Harry thought that they were probably too wrapped up in their own machinations to recognize that the other person was reciprocating interest.

In fact, Hermione's interest in Ron was the reason that Hermione had come to be at Order's headquarters in the first place. After the successful conclusion of Operation: Ruin Lavender Brown, Hermione had arranged to visit Ron during the summer. It was during her visit that Dumbledore re-convened the Order, and Molly Weasley refused to leave any of the children at the Burrow unsupervised. Thus, Hermione was brought along to Grimmauld Place with the rest of the Weasley clan.

All the time Hermione spent with Ron (or thinking about Ron, or talking to Ginny about Ron) meant that Hermione had very little time for Harry. She was careful to make some time to speak with Harry every day, but those few moments of conversation left Harry feeling lonelier than before.

The only other person at Grimmauld Place who was near Harry's age was Ginny, and Harry was not going to stir up that hornet's nest again.

Fortunately, there was one person at Grimmauld Place who was desperate for Harry's company: Sirius Black. Harry and Sirius spent most afternoons together, tucked away in the library. They would begin the day chatting about Harry's life at Hogwarts, but inevitably the conversation would turn toward the subject of the Malfoys, and from the Malfoys to the subject of Voldemort's return.

Although Sirius was in many ways reckless and childish, Harry found that the subject of Voldemort always caused the older wizard to become more sober and… well, serious. Harry had carefully observed his godfather's moods, as he had been considering asking a favor of Sirius for several days, and wanted to ensure the greatest likelihood that Sirius would agree. Thus, it was after one of the somber conversations about Voldemort that Harry broached a subject of learning to duel.

"I was so scared," Harry said to Sirius. "I was facing Pettigrew, all by myself. I had made it through the tournament, but nothing prepares you for a real duel, something that's really a matter of life and death. I just kept thinking that I should have been better prepared. I should have known more."

"Harry… what happened was an accident. You should never have been in that situation." Sirius frowned. "It was a failure of the adults around you."

"But we can't be sure that it won't happen again," Harry said insistently. "We can try, but there aren't any guarantees. And if I had known more, maybe Cedric…" Harry trailed off and looked at the ground.

"That wasn't your fault."

"And it wasn't your fault when Pettigrew told Voldemort where he could find my parents, right?" Sirius winced, but Harry pushed onward. "You weren't the one who betrayed them, but you spent the next fifteen years in Azkaban, wallowing in your own misery, because you thought you deserved to be punished! If anyone can understand how I feel, it's you!"

"I'll give you that," Sirius said. Then, more quietly, "I'll give you that, for sure."

"I need your help," Harry said. Now was the time for the important question. He had softened Sirius up, first with pity, then with a reminder of Sirius's own failings, and finally with a subtle allusion to Sirius's absence while Harry was a child. Harry would never get a better chance. "I need you to teach me to duel."

Sirius nodded slowly. "I think you're right. It's a useful skill, and it certainly can't hurt."

"I only have a few weeks before I go back to Hogwarts," Harry said, struggling to keep the excitement out of his voice. "We'll have to practice every night."

Sirius continued nodding as he spoke. His nod began to pick up speed, and his voice slowly became more and more excited. "We'll start with spell deflection, since that's something you can't practice without a partner. I'll teach you a shield or two, and how to cast a stunner…" Sirius smiled. "Yeah, this will be fun!" Sirius reached out and ruffled Harry's hair. Sirius had been doing this frequently, and Harry knew why: it left Harry's hair was sticking up, just as his father's hair always had.

"After dinner?" Harry asked.

"Sure. Let's meet upstairs, in the study. It's big enough; we should have plenty of space."

"The study? Do you mean the den? Or the library?" Harry was still learning his way around Grimmauld Place. He had been surprised to discover that the den and the library were different rooms: one was filled with books and had a fireplace, the other had a fireplace and was filled with books. It seemed like every room in Grimmauld Place was packed with old books. Old pureblood families had, in part, measured their prestige by the size of their libraries and the age and rarity of the tomes therein… a fact that Harry had learned, of course, from Hermione.

"Neither of those," Sirius said. "I mean the study. Third floor, fourth door on the right, just past the picture of the dead flowers in the ugly pot."

Harry nodded. He knew the picture. "What's in the study?"

"Books and a fireplace," Sirius said. "But there isn't much furniture, and a few deflected stinging jinxes won't hurt the books."

"Hermione might disagree with you on that," Harry said.

"Well, we won't tell Hermione, then."

"Agreed," Harry said. But Harry agreed for a far different reason. Harry suspected that Mrs. Weasley and Dumbledore might object to Harry's desire to learn to duel—the pair seemed determined to prevent Harry from becoming involved in the war. And while Hermione was many things, she was neither a flagrant rulebreaker nor an accomplished liar. The less she knew about Harry's dueling practice, the better.

*!*!*!*

The evening before Harry's trial, Harry cut short his dueling practice with Sirius. Harry wanted to review, one final time, his plan for the next morning. Sirius agreed, with only a cursory protest.

Harry tucked himself away inside the library. He pulled a large armchair over to the fireplace, and turned the chair so that it faced the window opposite the door. Sometimes, when Harry was planning, he liked to look at the darkness of the window. The window's perfect blackness helped Harry clear his mind and focus on his thoughts.

Harry grabbed a volume of Rules of Wizarding Court out of his schoolbag. A quick _incendio_ ignited a fire in the fireplace. Harry sat on the chair, book open on his lap, parchment on a clipboard that was balanced on the arm of the chair, quill poised to write. He had settled on his strategy several days ago, and its execution was rather clear, but he wanted to review everything one last time to make sure that he wasn't missing anything fundamentally simple.

An hour into his review, Harry heard voices coming from the hallway. The voices grew both nearer and louder, and Harry was able to recognize them as the voices of Ginny and Mrs. Weasley. There had been a few rows among the Weasleys already this week—the younger Weasleys were desperate to be involved in the Order, but Mrs. Weasley would have none of it.

"You don't tell me anything!" Ginny was screaming.

"You're too young!" Mrs. Weasley shot back.

"I've already been attacked by Voldemort! I have a right to know!"

"You're still a child!"

"Harry's faced You-Know-Who loads of times! Is he still a child?" Ginny yelled back. Harry's eyebrows went up—he was surprised to hear Ginny mention his name.

"YES! And if I had my way, he wouldn't be involved in this, either!"

"But he is involved! And so am I!" Ginny seemed like she was on the verge of tears, even though there was nothing but anger in her voice.

"Not if I have anything to say about it, you aren't!" Molly bellowed. Her words were angry, but the tone of her voice was worried. Ginny had struck a nerve with her last comment.

"AUGH! JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" Ginny screamed back.

Behind him, Harry heard the door to the library burst open, then slam shut. There was a thump, and Harry imagined Ginny leaning backward against the door. He could hear her crying, struggling desperately to gain control of her emotions.

Harry held himself still, trying to avoid making a noise. It was not a time for interruptions or intrusions. _Hey, Ginny, just wanted to let you know that the wizard you totally hate is in the room, listening to you cry._ Pfft. Hardly.

After a few moments, Ginny was able to calm herself and stop her tears. Harry heard her grumbling under her breath, and by the sound of her voice, she was moving closer. Harry looked over and saw Ginny with her back to him, walking along the bookshelves. She was running her hand along a shelf, quietly reading the titles aloud.

Ginny had grown taller since the Yule Ball—maybe even as tall as Harry, at this point—and her red hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She raised her hand, as if to pull a book from the shelf, then hesitated.

Harry realized that he had been staring at Ginny for quite some time. It was inevitable that Ginny would turn around and discover him. He had to announce his presence. If he waited until she turned around, he'd seem creepy, as if he had been spying upon her. He could say something, but no matter what it was, she would be startled. He could clear his throat, but that would have the same effect.

Perhaps he would just make a noise and rustle some papers. That seemed like a neutral-ish way to make Ginny notice him.

Harry adjusted himself in his chair and turned to a new page in his book. Ginny glanced over her shoulder and gasped. By the time she had spun fully around, her wand was in her hand.

"What are you doing there?" Ginny demanded.

"Getting ready for my trial tomorrow," Harry said matter-of-factly, still looking down at his book. It seemed casually cool, the sort of thing that Harry could imagine Draco doing in a similar situation.

"How long have you been there?"

"Over an hour," Harry said. "It's not like I snuck in after you." Harry gestured to one of the other chairs in the room. "Have a seat, if you'd like."

Ginny frowned. She obviously realized that Harry had overheard her argument, and her crying. "I think I'd rather leave," she said.

"No you wouldn't," Harry said, finally looking up. "You'd rather stay in here and read. Obviously."

"Not with you here, I wouldn't," she said.

"Oh, come on. You're a big girl, and I'm a big boy. You don't want to go out there and have another row with your mom, and I don't want to have to listen to it while I'm trying to work. Get a book and sit down."

Ginny frowned. "Don't tell me what to do."

Harry shrugged and turned back to his book. "Fine."

Ginny twisted her mouth from side to side, struggling with her decision. Finally, with a huff, she turned back to the bookcase and violently grabbed a book. "Fine."

Ginny started to walk toward a chair on the opposite side of the room. Before she could get there, Harry waved his wand. "_Accio _chair." The chair slid across the floor and came to a stop next to the fireplace, across from Harry.

Ginny glared at Harry.

"What?" Harry asked innocently. "There's no reason for you to sit in a dark corner when there's a perfectly good fire."

Ginny narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms.

"Do you want me to move it back?" Harry asked.

"No." Ginny stomped over to the chair and sat down. Harry, who had the feeling that he had pushed his luck enough, said nothing.

Ginny settled into the chair, opening her book, and Harry returned his attention to his trial notes. The two sat like that for quite a while, Harry occasionally scratching a note onto his parchment, Ginny slowly turning pages as she read. Once, Harry thought he heard Ginny humming a note or two.

Harry tried to turn his attention back to his trial, but he discovered that "She Loves You" was stuck in his head. The Beatles' tune song was one of Ginny's favorites; Harry had convinced The Weird Sisters to play it for Ginny at the Yule Ball. Infuriatingly, though, he could only think of one verse, over and over. It wasn't even a very catchy verse, either. _You know it's up to you / I think it's only fair / Pride can hurt you too / Apologize to her…_

Harry shook his head. Stupid song. He needed to take a quick break, then re-focus. The fire had burned low, so Harry stood and grabbed a couple of extra pieces of wood. When Harry tossed them into the fireplace, the impact of the logs caused sparks to flare and rise up the chimney. Harry grabbed an iron poker and aggressively jabbed at the fire for a few moments, until he was certain that there were no more song lyrics in his head. Harry went back to his chair and sat down.

As Harry turned his attention back to his book, he glanced at Ginny. In the red-orange light, her hair looked as if it were aflame. Harry noticed again how much she had changed over the last year. She looked much more mature, less childlike. With her hair in a ponytail, Harry could see that Ginny's face had slimmed. Her freckles, which Harry had always found to be cute, drew attention to her high cheekbones.

"You're staring," Ginny said.

Shit. Had he really been staring? For how long? What was wrong with him? Was he still staring now? He needed to say something.

"I owe you an apology," Harry said suddenly, and immediately regretted it. Those stupid song lyrics were giving him stupid ideas.

"No, I was acting like a berk, too, a few minutes ago," Ginny said, rolling her eyes.

"I meant about last year," Harry said. Why had he just said that? Ginny had given him an opportunity to escape this conversation, and he had put himself right back in it. Shit. Shit shit shit.

"Oh." Ginny closed her book, but kept a finger inside to mark her page. "Okay, then, let's hear it. And this had better be good."

"There's no point in not telling you," Harry said. "Not now, I guess. You know that last year Moody suspected that somebody entered me into the Tri-Wizard cup in an attempt to kill me."

"Barty Crouch, Junior," Ginny said. Of course Ginny would know that—Crouch had kidnapped her brother Percy and used polyjuice potion to infiltrate Hogwarts and the tournament.

"Right. But we didn't know who it was, not at the beginning of the year. Sirius told me that Karkaroff and Snape used to be Death Eaters, and he wanted me to be careful around them."

Ginny interrupted. "Does careful mean, 'eavesdropping on former Death Eaters while walking through the Hogwarts gardens?'" She had made that connection quickly—she was a clever girl, Harry had to give her that.

"Well, that was the problem, wasn't it?" Harry said. "I couldn't let them discover that we had been listening, not when one of them might have been trying to kill me, so… I kissed you."

Ginny's shoulders slumped, almost imperceptibly. "Why didn't you just tell me? I don't need to be protected like some delicate flower, you know." Harry could see Ginny was winding herself up, getting ready to launch into the same row she had just had with her mother.

"I just thought that you'd had enough Voldemort in your life," Harry said quickly. "I wasn't thinking about your feelings, and that was rather… immature of me. I wasn't trying to protect you, not exactly—I was trying to keep you from being involved at all. But I'm telling you now, because you're right. You are involved in this, whether you want to be or not. And since you obviously won't hear it from anyone else… well… there it is."

"So the whole thing in the gardens… it was about You-Know-Who this whole time," Ginny said. She turned her head away and glanced down at the fire.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Ginny, I panicked. When I heard them coming, I had to do the first thing that came to mind. And, since I had been thinking about kissing you for the entire time we were walking in the garden, it was the only thing I could think to do."

Ginny snorted, then tipped her head back and rolled her eyes dramatically. "I'm sure that's exactly what happened," she said sarcastically.

Harry felt a little hurt. "I'm being honest with you. This isn't easy, you know."

"Right, sure, you're being 'honest' with me." Ginny folded her arms and shook her head.

"What is it with you?" Harry asked defensively. "Are you just going to sit there and insist that everything I say is a lie? Why would I lie about this?"

"Why would you tell the truth?" Ginny countered. "One of the first things you learn in the girls' dormitories at Hogwarts is that you can't trust the pretty things that the Slytherin boys say to you. I forgot that last year, and maybe I shouldn't have."

Harry was slightly surprised. He had known that the boys in Slytherin would have _some_ _sort_ of reputation—after all, Harry was aware of the reputations of the girls in the various houses. (Gryffindor girls will kiss you before you could kiss them, and they leave scratch marks afterwards; if you want to get physical with a Ravenclaw, sneaking off in the library is your best bet; Hufflepuff girls latch on and don't let go, but if you're lucky they'll bring a friend along for the fun.) But Harry hadn't expected the reputation of the Slytherin boys to be so negative. Harry had expected something about clever gifts, or well-planned dates, or, at worst, the propensity to throw money around as a substitute for actual romance. He hadn't expected his housemates to have a reputation as flat-out liars.

Ginny folded her arms and raised her eyebrows inquisitively. "Is that all you had to say to me?"

Harry discovered that he had become lost in thought, and was unsure how long he had been brooding. Then, he realized the full import of Ginny's comment: there was something _else_ he was supposed to be apologizing for?

Of course. The fight in the hallway. Harry had been absolutely awful to her.

Harry took a deep breath before speaking. "You mean the row we had in the hallway. That was…" Harry looked away. He couldn't look Ginny in the eye and say this; it was too difficult. "I guess I do owe you an apology for that, too, don't I?"

Ginny nodded slowly, and continued to skewer Harry with a cool look of disdain.

"I… er…" Harry let out his breath in a huff. "Shit. I'm really embarrassed about that. You caught me off guard, and it was in front of my friends, and I didn't know what to do. If I had time to think it through, I probably wouldn't have said those things. I'm sorry."

The room fell silent for a moment as Ginny mulled over Harry's words. "That was hardly an apology," she said finally.

Before Harry could respond, the door to the library opened. It was Mrs. Weasley, who was speaking before she had fully entered the room.

"Ginny, dear, I've made some pudding if you- oh. I didn't realize there was somebody else in here."

"It's just me, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said, feigning cheerfulness. He leaned around the high back of the chair and waved.

"Hello, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said. "I was just saying, if Ginny wanted a spot of pudding, I've made some up. You're welcome to have some, too, if you'd like." Mrs. Weasley's face was hopeful. She wasn't apologizing to Ginny for her argument, but she was desperately hoping that Ginny would accept the pudding as a peace offering.

Harry turned back to Ginny. "Why don't we have some pudding? I could use a snack before bed." Harry thought that he could also use a little more time to compose a proper apology for what he had said last year in the hallway.

Ginny gave Harry a curious look, then shrugged. "Why not? Pudding it is."

"Wonderful!" said Mrs. Weasley. "Meet me down in the kitchen, dears." She bustled away, leaving the door open behind her.

Harry closed his book and stood. "Go on ahead," he said to Ginny. "I'll put out the fire, put away my notes, and be down in a moment."

"Sure," Ginny said. Harry conjured some water to douse the fireand Ginny replaced her book on the shelf. As Harry tidied his notes, Ginny moved to leave the room. She hesitated in the doorway, glancing back over her shoulder at Harry. Harry looked up and flashed a smile at her. Ginny furrowed her eyebrows, then shook her head.

"See you downstairs," she said. And then she was gone.

Harry smiled to himself, more broadly than he had smiled in days. That hadn't gone so poorly, after all. Maybe Ginny wasn't going to hate him forever… if he could manage a proper apology for their row in the hallway, that is. And as Harry organized the last of his notes, he realized that he was humming.

_You know you should… be glad!_

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Harry shook his head. Stupid song. But Harry was smiling, and it took him the entire trip downstairs to compose his face.

When Harry arrived at the kitchen, he was surprised to find that the twins were there, as well. Surprised, and disappointed. And then surprised, again, at his disappointment. Harry hadn't thought that he would want to be alone with Ginny, but apparently he did.

"What brought you two down to the kitchen?" Harry asked.

"Somebody smelled the scrumptious scent of his mother's cooking," Fred said.

"Was it you?"

"No, it was me," said George.

"But that hasn't stopped me from helping myself to heaping helping of pudding," Fred said.

Before Harry could say more, Molly arrived and placed a dish of pudding in front of Harry. Harry thanked her, and before he took his first bite, he glanced across the table at Ginny. Her eyes were down, and she was eating her pudding with the ravenous attention that only a Weasley could give to food. There was no indication that their conversation in the library had any effect on her.

With the twins around, Harry wasn't comfortable saying anything to Ginny. They might be on the verge of restoring some sort of friendship, but there was still a long way to go. He wasn't going to have a heart-to-heart conversation in front of Fred and George, either—that would be asking for trouble.

Harry chatted with Fred and George as he ate his pudding, and Ginny talked to her brothers, as well. It quickly became apparent that Ginny was willing to talk to her brothers, but had no interest in engaging with Harry. A few minutes into the conversation, after Harry made a particularly witty joke and while Fred and George were laughing, Harry cast a glance over at Ginny. She was looking at him coolly, eyes slightly narrowed, not even the hint of a grin on her face. Worst of all, Ginny caught him looking at her. Harry immediately averted his eyes and gazed deeply into his pudding.

Harry had made some strides toward reconciliation with Ginny, but it was clear that his work was far from over. He needed to start working on that apology as soon as possible—as soon as he was done with his trial.

* * *

**A/N: **_Next chapter starts the trial. Have we reached the preview chapter already? Yikes! Time flies._

_So, the very first fic I ever read was _Dumbledore's Army and the Year of Darkness._ I read it because I stumbled across it on the tvtropes website, and was sufficiently intrigued to seek it out. When I began writing, I felt that I would have truly achieved success as a writer if my work showed up on the "Recommended Fic" list on tvtropes._

_Yesterday, I discovered that it has. I realize that this measure of success is totally arbitrary, but it's still really cool._


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** _Today, I am starting a new job as a juvenile prosecuting attorney. Let's celebrate with a bonus chapter involving a juvenile prosecution._

_Today's chapter comes in two parts. The first was posted as a preview at the end of _Harry Potter and the Tri-Wizard Tournament._ The second half, though, was too good to spoil. Make sure you read it all!_

_Tune in on Friday for your regularly-scheduled chapter._

* * *

Harry entered the chamber. It was large and circular, like an arena. Every seat was filled by a wizard in plum-colored formal robes, each of which had a silver 'W' on the left-hand side of the chest. At the center of the chamber was a table, and behind the table sat Minister Fudge. There were two witches on either side of Fudge, and Harry recognized neither of them. One of those witches, however, Harry was sure he would never forget; she was wearing the most atrocious pink robes, and had the oiliest smile that Harry had ever seen. At the end of Fudge's table sat Percy Weasley. He looked almost completely recovered from his imprisonment by Barty Crouch, Junior the previous year.

"The juvenile will come forward," Fudge said. Harry stepped forward. "Harry Potter, you are charged with underage use of magic, second offense, to wit, that Harry Potter did knowingly, deliberately, and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, having received a previous written warning from the Ministry of magic on a similar charge, produce a Patronus Charm in a Muggle-inhabited area, in the presence of a Muggle, on August the second at twenty-three minutes past nine, which constitutes an offense under paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under section thirteen of the International Confederation of Wizards' Statute of Secrecy. How do you plead to your charge?"

"Not guilty," Harry said.

Harry heard a door open at the back of the courtroom. He kept his attention on Fudge, and did not glance back.

"We will proceed directly to trial," Fudge said. "Have you hired a barrister to act on your behalf?"

"I will represent myself," Harry said.

"Be seated," Fudge said.

Harry turned and stepped toward the chair at the center of the courtroom. As he did, he glanced to the back of the courtroom. Dumbledore and Snape were seated at the back of the room, the only spectators for Harry's trial.

As Harry sat, Fudge spoke again. "The court will call and examine its witnesses. First witness: Harry Potter. The Juvenile will come forward and be examined by the court."

Harry frowned and stood. "I invoke my right to silence at this time. I reserve the right to make a later statement, and subject myself to the court's inquiries at that time."

Fudge frowned. "The court calls Mafalda Hopkirk."

Mafalda Hopkirk worked in the Underage Magic Office. It was she who had sent Harry his warning for underage magic during Harry's second year, and who had sent Harry his notices of the hearing today. She was a small witch, with wire-rimmed spectacles and flyaway gray hair.

When Hopkirk was seated on the witness stand, Fudge had her give a brief explanation of the tracing charm, and the manner in which the Underage Magic Office tracked violations. "Every time there is a violation," she said, "an enchanted quill will write the location of the violation, the nature of the spell, and the date and time of the violation. This is then cross-checked with Underage Magic Tracing records, to determine who committed the violation."

"Did you receive a notice regarding the juvenile in this case?"

"Yes."

"Please describe that notice."

"The notice stated that a patronus charm was cast in Little Whinging, Surrey, on August second at nine twenty-three in the evening. I cross-checked the Underage Tracing records, and determined that the only wizard in the area was one Harry Potter, the juvenile in this case."

"Nothing further will be required of you," Fudge said. Hopkirk stepped down and left the courtroom. Fudge opened his arms expansively. "The crown rests its case. Mr. Potter, you may proceed with your defense."

Harry stood and pulled a small pad of parchment from his pocket. He was nervous, but also excited. Fudge had made a mistake, and Harry was ready for it. "Witches and wizards of the Wizengamot," Harry said, reading from his parchment, "I respectfully move this august body to dismiss the charges before me. The crown has not proven every element of its case beyond a reasonable doubt. Specifically, the crown has not introduced evidence of any previous offense of underage magic. All testimony in this case has related to the date of August 2, 1995. Because no evidence has been put offered to show that this incident was a second offense, the crown will be unable to prove its case, and acquittal is necessary."

Fudge's jaw dropped open and a murmur went through the Wizengamot. It was clear that nobody had expected Harry to have such a firm grasp of the law, nor had they expected Fudge to have made such a fundamental mistake. Harry got the distinct feeling that some of the members of the Wizengamot were pleased to see Fudge on the verge of complete failure.

Fudge shook his head and composed his face. "Your motion is overruled," he said confidently.

A broad, square-jawed witch with a monocle leaned forward. "The interrogator may not rule upon the motion of the accused," she said. "The Wizengamot Charter of Rights provides that the motion will be ruled upon by the most highly ranked member of the Wizarding Examination Authority who is present." The witch turned and gestured toward a stooped witch with a thickly lined face. "Madam Marchbanks, if you would be so kind?"

"Certainly, Madam Bones," said the stooped witch. "It is plain that the pending charge of 'second offense underage magic' cannot be proved beyond a reasonable doubt, as the crown has not introduced evidence of a first offense of underage magic. However, accusation of 'second offense underage magic' implicitly includes a charge of 'first offense underage magic.' The charges against Mr. Potter will not be dismissed, but will proceed as an accusation of the lesser-included offense, 'first offense underage magic.' Mr. Potter, the maximum possible penalty for 'first offense underage magic' is as follows: up to 100 hours of service to the community, and a fine of up to ten galleons." Madam Marchbanks smiled. "There is no possibility of expulsion."

Harry grinned. He hadn't won the whole trial, but this was an enormous victory. He would willingly do community service and pay a fine if it meant that he could continue as a student at Hogwarts. Fudge, meanwhile, had turned almost purple with rage.

"Thank you, Madam Marchbanks," Harry said. "At this time, I would like to give my opening statement."

"We haven't got all day to listen to taradiddles," Fudge snapped. "The juvenile will proceed directly to his witnesses."

"The juvenile asserts his right to give an opening statement under Wizengamot Charter of Rights Rule 8," Harry said firmly. He looked toward Madam Marchbanks.

The stooped witch nodded. "Mr. Potter is permitted to give an opening statement. Briefly, though, if you please."

"Thank you, Madam," Harry said. "Witches and wizards of the Wizengamot, I stand before you today accused of use of underage magic in the presence of a muggle. Today, the evidence will show that the muggle in question was a family member privy to knowledge of the wizarding world and that no obliviation was required. Therefore, there was no violation of the Statute of Secrecy. Further, the evidence will show that the use of this magic was a necessity, and therefore was a reasonable use of magic by a minor. Because of this, I should not be convicted of improper use of underage magic. Thank you."

Fudge snarled at Harry. "Call. Your. First. Witness."

"I call Mrs. Arabella Figg."

Fudge sent Percy to the back of the courtroom. Percy poked his head out of the door and called Mrs. Figg into the room. She looked as discombobulated as she ever did, and was still wearing her carpet slippers. Harry wondered how he had ever mistaken her for a muggle, given her penchant for eccentric dress in the otherwise-conservative Little Whinging. Mrs. Figg sat at the witness stand, and Harry stood to begin his questioning.

"Mrs. Figg, could you state your name and residence?"  
"Arabella Doreen Figg. I'm a resident of Little Whinging. I live just down the street from Harry Potter."

Mrs. Bones interrupted. "We have no record of any witch or wizard living in Little Whinging other than Harry Potter. That situation has always been closely monitored, given… past events."

"Oh, I'm a squib," Mrs. Figg said brightly. Harry was surprised that she could say such a thing so lightly.

"Thank you for your honesty," Harry said to Mrs. Figg. "Can you tell the Wizengamot, did you and I see one another on August 2, 1995?"

"Yes, we did."

"What happened?"

"I was going to buy cat food from the corner shop near Wisteria Walk. It was just after nine. I heard something down the alleyway between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria walk. I looked into the alley and saw a pair of dementors near Harry Potter and another boy."

This time, Fudge interrupted. "Can squibs see dementors?"

"I just told you I could," Mrs. Figg said snappishly.

"What did they look like?" Harry asked.

"They were big. Big with dark cloaks."

"What were they doing?" Harry asked.

"They went for you and the other boy," Mrs. Figg said. "Then you cast the patronus charm and were able to keep them away with a shield. You smashed one of them against a wall with the shield, and you drove the other away. And then I walked you boys home. And… that's what happened."

"Did you notice anything else?" Harry asked. "What else did you see or feel?"

"It was colder than it should have been," Mrs. Figg said. "It was very cold for a summer night. And I felt… unhappy. It was like all the happiness had gone from the world. And I remembered the most dreadful things…" Mrs. Figg's voice trailed off, and she frowned.

Harry nodded solemnly. "Thank you, Mrs. Figg. I have no further questions."

Fudge was fidgeting with his papers. He waved his hand absentmindedly. "The crown has no further questions for the witness. You may go."

Mrs. Figg stood and left. As the door closed behind her, Fudge remarked, to nobody in particular, "Not a very convincing witness."

"She did describe the effects of a dementor rather accurately," Madam Bones said, also to nobody in particular.

When Harry was certain that their exchange was over, he spoke again. "I call Dudley Dursley to the witness stand."

*!*!*!*!*

It had not been easy for Harry to procure Dudley's presence at the trial. Using a magical subpoena upon Mrs. Figg was rather easy—Harry had simply filled out a form, and the subpoena delivered itself. The spell which created a magical subpoena was derived from the spell which created a Howler, but ignoring a magical subpoena had much greater consequences: if the witness was not at the correct location at the correct time, the subpoena would grow in size, wrap the witness up like a blanket, and then trigger as a portkey to transport the witness to the courtroom. Harry didn't think that any of that would be necessary, however, as Mrs. Figg was generally very kind to him.

Dudley was a different story, however. During his review of magical law, Harry had discovered that the Statute of Secrecy prohibited the use of a magical subpoena upon a muggle, unless a special exception was granted by the Wizengamot. Exceptions were granted only in extraordinary circumstances, because they required the obliviation of the muggle after testimony was given. Harry hadn't expected the Wizengamot to take special interest in his trial, so he hadn't even requested an exception. Nevertheless, Dudley was a critical witness, and Harry needed him to be present.

Harry and Sirius had discussed the problem at length. Sirius had, rather jokingly, suggested threatening the Dudley into compliance. "I'd do that in a heartbeat," Sirius had said, "If I weren't confined to this blasted house."

Harry had left the conversation depressed. Another wizard had come to mind, a wizard who would have no qualms about coercing Dudley into compliance. Or, rather, there _had been_ another wizard who, before the end of the Tri-Wizard tournament, _would have had_ no qualms about coercing Dudley's compliance: Lucius Malfoy. Now, Mr. Malfoy had joined the ranks of the Death Eaters, and Harry knew that Mr. Malfoy would do him no favors.

Harry had considered asking the other members of the Order, but had rejected them all. He didn't know Tonks well enough, and Moody would probably report Harry to Ministry authorities. Arthur and Molly Weasley would never threaten a muggle. Remus Lupin was a werewolf, and given the prejudices against werewolves, Lupin would be risking immediate imprisonment if he helped Harry. And Dumbledore… Dumbledore was right out.

Harry could think of only one member of the Order who might help him: Snape. And even though Snape was the only member of the Order who might help, it was still very unlikely as Snape had tasked Harry with constructing his defense completely independently. But Harry had a few things working in his favor: Sirius had said 'no,' which meant that Snape was more likely to say 'yes,' simply out of spite. Snape had also said that he would not allow a Slytherin to be unjustly expelled from Hogwarts, and Dudley was one of only two independent witnesses to the attack. Thus, even though it meant admitting to a small failure, Harry gathered his courage and asked Snape for help.

To Harry's surprise, Snape immediately agreed.

On the morning of Harry's trial, Snape and Harry appeared at the Dursley's doorstep at 6:00 AM. Harry was already dressed for court, and Snape wore his darkest robes. Harry knocked on the door. Twice. Then a third time. Finally, as Harry raised his hand to knock once again, Vernon Dursley snatched open the door.

"Who is it at this time of the morning?!" Vernon shouted. His mouth was opened wide, pushing his fat cheeks upward and forcing his eyes closed.

"Hello, Uncle Vernon," Harry said. "I'd like to speak with Dudley."

Vernons eyes popped open. "You," he said in a low voice. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Harry grinned. "I'd like to speak with Dudley, in case I wasn't clear the first time."

"I thought we were rid of you for the summer," Vernon said. His face was beginning to turn purple.

"Vernon? Who is it?" Petunia was behind Vernon, standing at the bottom of the stairs.

"It's… _that boy_," Vernon growled.

Petunia scowled. "Tell him to go away."

"I just want to talk to Dudley," Harry said. He was beginning to enjoy the Dursleys' discomfort.

"You leave our Dudders alone!" Petunia cried.

Snape made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. "This is pathetic. You _will_ allow Mr. Potter to speak with your 'Dudders,'" he said, voice dripping with derision. "I simply insist."

Vernon and Petunia, for the first time, noticed the wizard standing behind Harry. Petunia gasped and brought a hand to her mouth. "It can't be," she said.

Snape smiled. "Hello, Petunia."

"How do you know my wife's name?" Vernon's head whipped back and forth, and he looked from Petunia to Snape. "Petunia? You know this… this… miscreant?"

Petunia nodded, still holding her hand in front of her mouth. "He knew my sister, when we were just little girls… before she went to that school for freaks…" This was new information for Harry, and apparently for Vernon as well.

"Move aside," Snape said firmly.

"Now see here-" Vernon began.

"Move aside, or else," Snape said.

Vernon drew himself up to his full height and took in a large breath, preparing to bellow at Snape. Before he could let loose, Petunia spoke.

"Let him in," Petunia said quickly. "Don't make him angry. He's… awful…"

Vernon glanced back at Petunia, astonished. Harry took that opportunity to push past his uncle, and strode into the foyer. Vernon stepped away from the door to pursue Harry. "Now, see here…" Vernon began.

By stepping away from the door, Vernon allowed Snape to step inside. "Thank you for inviting me into your home," Snape said dryly.

Petunia reached out and tugged Vernon's wrist, pulling him away from Snape. Vernon allowed himself to be hauled backward, until he was standing protectively in front of Petunia.

"What do you want?" Petunia asked, her voice quiet.

"To speak with Dudley!" Harry said cheerfully. He took a few steps into the sitting room and leaned against the arm of a chair. "Why don't you call him down?"

Petunia shook her head.

Snape folded his arms. "Call him."

Petunia winced, then called out. "Dudders, will you come downstairs for mummy?"

"Are my pancakes ready?" Dudley shouted back.

"Say yes," Snape said quietly.

"Yes, Diddykins," Petunia called out, voice quavering.

"FINALLY!" Dudley appeared at the top of the stairs. "It takes you _forever _to make me breakfast!" Dudley stopped halfway down the staircase, realizing that something strange was going on. "Who's that?"

"I am Professor Severus Snape, of the Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. Your presence is required at court this morning for testimony."

"I didn't do it!" Dudley shouted immediately.

"You are not on trial, you buffoon," Snape snapped. He had never suffered fools lightly. "Your cousin requires you to testify."

Harry poked his head out of the sitting room and looked up the stairs. "Hello, Dudley!"

"I'm not going anywhere with him!" Dudley said, eyes going wide with fear.

Vernon stepped forward. "You can't come into my home and kidnap my boy!"

"I am kidnapping no one. Dudley's testimony is required at court. I will convey him to the court, he will testify, and then I will convey him back to your home."

"You will _not_," Vernon said firmly.

"How do you propose to stop me?" Snape adjusted his shoulders slightly, and suddenly his wand appeared in his hand.

"I don't know, but I won't give up without a fight!" Vernon clenched his hands into fists and took a fighting stance.

"Consider the consequences of your actions," Snape said calmly. "As I understand it, the last time you defied a professor of Hogwarts your son grew a pig's tail. Your son was not fully transfigured _in that particular incident_. I am, however, a far greater wizard than Hagrid has ever been."

"Is that some kind of threat?" Vernon said.

"Yes, it is," Snape said. "I _will_ take your son to testify. And I _will _return him. The form in which he is returned… that is up to you."

Vernon took a step forward. "You can't threaten my family in my home!"

"It seems that I already have," Snape said. "In fact, I will continue to do so. Petunia, have you ever told Vernon about _very first_ letter you ever received from Headmaster Dumbledore?"

The blood drained from Petunia's face, but Vernon was facing Snape and could not see his wife's shock. "The letter he left on our doorstep with that little rotter?" Vernon yelled. "I read it! He's been nothing but trouble ever since!"

"Not that letter," Snape said. "Before that." Snape was speaking slowly. Harry had no idea what was contained in this mysterious letter, but he understood that Snape was giving Petunia a choice: stop Vernon and keep the contents of the mystery letter a secret, or allow Vernon to attack and have her secrets revealed.

Petunia reached out and placed a hand on Vernon's arm. "Don't," she said. She turned and looked up the stairs at Dudley. "Dudley, get changed. Put on a tie."

"Mu-um!"

"DO IT NOW!" Petunia screamed, her voice shrill and piercing. Dudley let out a cry and scrambled up the stairs.

There was silence, for a moment, in the foyer. Vernon slowly lowered his hands.

"Thanks, Aunt Petunia!" Harry said with a grin.

"Shut your mouth, you horrible thing," Petunia snapped. She closed her eyes for a moment, composing herself, before opening them again and addressing Snape. "Dudley will be returned to me in precisely the same condition as he left," she said firmly.

"Of course he will be," said Snape. "It would be difficult for him to be any worse."

Petunia shook her head. "You were an awful boy, and you've become an awful man."

Snape had no visible reaction. "Your judgment does not trouble me, as it is clearly atrocious. Harry saved your 'Diddykins' from a fate worse than death, and yet you wish to see him punished for it."

There was a thump on the stairs as Dudley lumbered down toward the foyer. He had dressed himself, shabbily, in his school uniform. The uniform looked as if it had sat in a pile on Dudley's floor for the entire summer—which, Harry knew, it had. Laundry was Harry's responsibility, and he had "accidentally" tucked Dudley's uniform underneath a heap of Dudley's sweatiest gym clothes. That heap had been purposefully neglected, with the hope that the uniform would be permanently infused with the disgusting odor of Dudley's sweat. Snape wrinkled his nose as Dudley approached, and Harry silently celebrated a mission well accomplished.

"Do I have to go?" Dudley whined.

"Yes," Petunia said. She crouched down and straightened Dudley's tie. "You be a good boy. Go to court and tell the truth and come home fast to mummy. Then I'll take you out and buy you a new video game, how does that sound?"

"Okay," Dudley said churlishly.

"Good." Petunia hugged Dudley. As she did so, she glared over his shoulder at Harry, with nothing but hatred in her eyes.

Snape clapped his hands, causing Dudley and Petunia to leap apart. "It is time to go," Snape said. "Come along."


End file.
